


Always Gold

by righteousbros



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Abusive John Winchester, Accidental Incest, Alternate Universe, Attempted Sexual Assault, Bottom Dean, Firefighter Dean, Foster Care, Homelessness, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, Lawyer Sam Winchester, M/M, Marine Dean, Past Child Abuse, Rare Pairings, Rimming, Rough Sex, Separate Childhoods, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 46,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/righteousbros/pseuds/righteousbros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Non-hunting AU.  As children, Sam and Dean lived in the shadow of their father's grief and his whiskey-fueled violent outbursts. Dean bore the brunt of it all in order to protect Sam.  When evidence of the abuse is revealed, the boys are removed from their home and separated from each other.  Sam is adopted and Dean is sent to a string of foster homes before they finally lose track of one another by distance and circumstance.  Sam goes to Stanford to study law and Dean eventually joins the Marines.  Sam tries to find Dean a few times, but when his military record seems to dead end with Dean marked MIA Sam assumes the worst.  Eighteen years after they last saw each other, Sam gets a call that John has died and learns that Dean is alive and living in their old hometown of Lawrence.  Dean, now a firefighter and a single dad, doesn't recognize Sam as the kid brother he once knew now after so many years apart. As their relationship becomes more entangled, Sam struggles with how to tell Dean the truth without losing him forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes: Just wanted to say a big thank you to my beta Leslie (aka Exaggerated_Specificity) who is simply amazing and inspires me to be a better writer.

“Sam, there’s a call for you on line one from a Mr. Shaffer. He’s with J&J Associates out of Topeka, Kansas.”

“Thanks, Maggie.”

Sam released the intercom button and sat back in his chair. Kansas? Sam stared at the blinking red light on his phone like it was an incendiary device. He hadn’t heard from anyone back there in well over a decade. He took a deep breath and picked up the handset.

“Hello? This is Sam Singer.”

“Hello, Mr. Singer, I’m Josh Shaffer. I’ve been appointed administrator of John Winchester’s estate by the Douglas County District Court. I represented him in a civil case a number of years ago. I understand that you are the biological son of Mr. Winchester, is that correct?”

Sam slumped backward in his chair, utterly gobsmacked. “H-he’s dead?”

“Oh! Oh god. I’m so sorry. I thought you would have been notified by now by the coroner’s office.”

“No, I wasn’t…I didn’t know.” Sam swallowed back the lump in this throat. He didn’t think he had any tears left for John Winchester but apparently he’d been wrong. “When did it happen?”

“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, Mr. Singer. It was almost eight months ago now.” Josh paused, and Sam could hear him rustling some paper around on the other end of the line. “He um…he died of acute alcohol poisoning.”

Yep, that sounds like John, Sam thought to himself bitterly. Part of him had been expecting this news for a long time now but still it was a shock to actually hear it spoken out loud. “Was there a funeral?”

“No. Your brother-“

“Dean?” Sam interrupted. A long-buried hope sprang to life inside him and he grabbed for it like a lifeline. “You found Dean?”

“Yes. He moved back to Lawrence from Chicago about three and a half years ago. He was notified first as he’s the oldest heir and John didn’t leave a will. To be honest, all this time I thought he was the only heir. I didn’t know about you or how to get in touch with you until just recently. Your brother requested cremation instead of a funeral. He sent a check to cover the costs but since then no one has been able to reach him. Frankly, I get the impression that he’s washed his hands of the matter entirely.”

“Wait. Dean didn’t say anything about me?” That couldn’t be. That just couldn’t be.

“Not until last week. I thought I’d drive over to Lawrence and try to talk to him in person. Hopefully to reason with him. Your brother…he’s an intimidating guy.” The man sounded anxious just talking about it.

“What did he say?”

“He said to leave him alone, that he didn’t want anything to do with John when he was alive and he didn’t want anything from him now that he’s…well, you know. Then he told me about you and that I should give you everything if I could find you. Then he shut the door in my face.”

Dean is alive. _Dean is alive_. That one fact repeated in his head over and over like an invocation. Sam’s heart crashed and fluttered frantically about his ribcage like a wild thing. Purely for the sake of politeness he tried to compose himself long enough to keep up with what this guy Josh was trying to tell him. “I don’t understand. What do you mean everything?”

“The ‘estate’, as it were, isn’t much I’m afraid. There’s the house in Lawrence, and your father’s car, and a life insurance policy he took out back before you were born. That should cover his outstanding debts with a remainder of approximately three thousand dollars.”

Sam’s mind jammed up like an old typewriter with too many keys being pressed all at once. “Wow. Okay. I’m sorry, I’m not sure how to process all of this.“

“Of course,” Josh assured him. “Why don’t you take a few days and get back to me when you’re ready? I’ll leave my information with your secretary. Then we can discuss how you want to move forward. Again, I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

Sam hung up the phone and stared out the huge floor-to-ceiling windows of his office. Downtown San Francisco lay spread out before him in shimmering glass and steel. It was no more his home in any real sense than any other place he’d lived in since he’d been a little kid.

In one fell swoop his whole world had been knocked irrevocably off kilter. The father he’d tried to forget his entire adult life was gone and the brother that he’d thought was dead was alive and safe. Sam dropped his head into his hands and cried for them both.

 

~~~

Three weeks after the phone call, Sam found himself driving down the highway heading west from the Kansas City airport. The rental car that he was driving was so small he was surprised that it wasn’t actually made by Fisher-Price. He couldn’t believe that this was his life.

The partners at the firm had been very understanding about his decision to take a leave of absence after he’d explained the situation. His parents had been less so, but that was understandable. Bobby and Ellen Singer had been his whole world since they’d taken him into their home. For almost two decades they’d dreaded the mere possibility of Sam’s past catching up with him and upending their happy little family. Now he was running towards that past full speed and they had a hard time understanding why he felt like he had to.

Sam had tried to assuage their fears as best he could. He loved them both dearly and in his heart they’d always be Mom and Dad. If this had only been about John and their father-son relationship that never really was he’d have no interest in travelling down memory lane at all. As far as he was concerned that road had dead-ended at the bottom of a whiskey bottle when he’d still been in diapers. Ever since his wife’s death, John had been a shell of a man. To his young sons he had been an alcohol-soaked burden, a loose cannon, and occasionally a genuine threat - but never really their dad in the traditional sense. This journey Sam was on now through the flat stretch of the Kansas countryside was all on account of Dean.

_~1991~_

_“Sammy?”_

_Sam blinked his eyes open blearily. An odd tingling sensation prickled over his chapped lips and his red-rimmed eyes. His throat felt like it was full of broken glass and he was so hot that he wanted to crawl out of his skin just to make it stop._

_As Sam gradually came to he realized that he wasn’t in bed anymore. He was in the back seat of the Impala cradled in Dean’s arms, soaked with sweat and too weak to move. He couldn’t see much except for Dean’s worried face hovering above him, but he could feel the rumble of the car and see the trees rush past through the window. They must be going real fast._

_“Dean?” Sam croaked. His throat hurt so bad that he could barely breathe without pain. He hated being sick and for the past day and half he’d been sicker than he’d ever been in all eight years of his short life so far._

_Dean brushed the sweat-damp curls off of his forehead. “It’s okay, Sammy. Your fever got too high. Dad’s taking us to the hospital.”_

_Dad driving? It was dark outside and Dad never even walked straight anymore at night. There was no way he was sober enough to be driving. They had to make him stop the car. Sam whined and wriggled in Dean’s lap in panic as he tried to sit up._

_“Shh! Calm down! Calm down, Sam!”_

_“Dean! You keep him quiet back there!” John bellowed._

_Sam’s panic spiked even higher at the sound of his father’s voice. He’d made Dad angry and now Dean was going to get it. It was all his fault. He was going to boil to death with fever and then Dean would be all alone with Dad._

_Tears burned white-hot down Sam’s cheeks and he clung tighter to Dean’s shirt. “I don’t wanna die.”_

_Dean hugged him against his chest and rubbed his back, trying to quiet him. “You’re not going to die, dummy. The doctors are gonna fix you right up, you’ll see. When you’re all better I’ll go to the store and get us some ice cream. How does that sound, huh? A nice big ice cream sundae.”_

_Sam sobbed and buried his face against his brother’s neck. He stayed there until the blackness crept into his vision and pulled him back down into sleep once more._

_~~~_

_“He’s going to be just fine now, sweetheart. You and your dad did the right thing bringing him to us.”_

_Sam opened his eyes. He was lying in a big hospital bed and there was a nurse with grey hair fussing with a bag of IV fluid that was attached to his arm._

_Dean was standing by his bedside, hands gripping the railing. “Sammy? How do you feel?”_

_Sam tried to speak but his throat was swollen up too tight. The best he could manage was a squeak rather than real words._

_“Don’t try to talk, honey,” the nurse said. “I’ll fetch your dad. He just stepped out for some coffee.” She hurried away, leaving the Dean to watch over him._

_As soon as she was gone Sam looked up at Dean, questions burning behind his eyes. Dean heard them without him having to say a word._

_“I didn’t have a choice, Sammy. I had to get you here and Dad was the only way. I hid the bottle from him and I made him drink a whole bunch of coffee first. But hey listen, you’re doing great now,” Dean told him. “Your fever is down. It was real high but Dr. Kasmin is super smart and he knew just what to do to fix you. He said your tonsils are no good and they’ve got to come out. But don’t worry because you’re going to be asleep the whole time and you won’t feel a thing. Isn’t that cool?”_

_Sam shook his head. That wasn’t cool. That was scary. He didn’t want to sleep anymore. He just wanted to go home._

_“You scared?” Dean asked._

_Sam nodded and grabbed Dean’s hand. Dean didn’t like Sam holding his hand now that he was twelve and almost a teenager, but he knew that his brother would let it slide this time. It had been a while since they’d had to visit the hospital but it always made Dean nervous._

_Sure enough, Dean linked their fingers together without resistance. “Don’t be scared, Sammy. I’m going to be right here the whole time.”_

_A red-haired man with a white coat and a folder in his hand walked into the room. “Hi, Sam. I’m Dr. Kasmin. Glad to see that you’re feeling better. Your brother tells me that you want to be a magician when you grow up? Is that right?”_

_Sam nodded shyly. Dean squeezed his hand, quietly reassuring him._

_“That’s pretty cool. I used to do a little magic when I was your age. Check this out.” Dr. Kasmin took a pen out of the front pocket of his coat. He turned it over and around in his hands to show that it was just a normal pen. Then he stuck the whole thing through his ear and pulled it out of his mouth. “Ta da! What do you think?”_

_Sam smiled and gave him a thumbs up. That was a pretty neat trick._

_“Alright, I better stick with my day job for now and leave the magic to you. How about you let me listen to your lungs?”_

_Sam nodded and Dean helped him sit up so the doctor could press his stethoscope to Sam’s chest and back._

_The doctor listened to him breathe and seemed to be satisfied by what he heard. “Sounds good, Sam.” As he straightened up and slung the stethoscope back around his neck, he paused and a line of concern furrowed his brow. “Dean, what happened to your finger?”_

_Dean froze for a moment, caught off-guard. Sam looked over at him anxiously. This is exactly why they didn’t like hospitals. Too many questions._

_“Let me see,” the doctor said. It wasn’t an order exactly but it wasn’t a request either._

_Dean recovered and shrugged like it was nothing. He held out his left hand. The pinky finger was bent at an odd angle from the knuckle. “It’s fine,” Dean said coolly. “I slammed it in a door on accident and it got a little banged up. Doesn’t even hurt anymore.” He’d gotten to be a good liar over the years because he always threw in just a big enough dash of the truth to sell it. It had been broken in a slammed door but it hadn’t been on accident. John might have been drunk at the time but he had known exactly what he was doing._

_Dr. Kasmin looked at his finger, testing the joint gently. “How come this was never set properly? Didn’t you show this to your dad when it happened?”_

_Dean didn’t have a ready answer for that. He took a quick step back as he started to make up an excuse but he didn’t notice the chair that was right behind him. The back of his knees hit the edge of it and Dean stumbled, sitting down hard on the seat. He hissed in pain and winced on impact._

_Sam lurched up, his head throbbing dully with the sudden movement. “Dean!” he exclaimed hoarsely._

_“You okay, Dean?” The doctor said, coming to his brother’s side. “Are you hurt?”_

_“No!” Dean shouted. “Don’t touch me!”_

_Dr. Kasmin studied Dean’s face for a long tense moment. Sam could feel something shift in the silence of the room. Like a terrible storm was building over the horizon and heading straight for them._

_Dean grew paler by the second under the doctor’s stare. He’d seen Dean wince and he wasn’t buying the story about his finger anymore._

_“Okay, boys,” he said finally. “I’m going to go talk to your father. I’ll be right back.”_

_The doctor left, closing the door quietly behind him. Sam and Dean looked at one another knowing the thing that they’d been dreading was finally happening. People were going to find out. People were going to find out and send them away._

_No one had believed Dean’s lies or John’s excuses no matter how many times he tried to deny it. Especially not after they’d checked Dean’s medical records and did the math on how many times this one scrawny little kid had accidentally broken or dislocated his own arms. Dr. Kasmin had insisted on giving him a full exam to check for further injuries. That’s when he saw the fresh bruises on Dean’s back and thighs._

_Dr. Kasmin left the exam room where Dean was still trembling in fear on his table and made a beeline for the nurse’s station. He grabbed the attention of the first RN he saw._

_“Caroline, I need you to page the on-call social worker right away. I think we’re going to have to get Child Protective Services in on this one.”_

~~~

Things happened pretty quickly after that. Sam and Dean had been sent to a group home and put up for adoption as they had no other family to claim them. Sam had been adopted right away by the Singers, a childless couple who were both anthropology professors at the University of Kansas. Dean however hadn’t been so lucky. To say he didn’t react well to being separated from Sam would be a gross understatement.

Dean had been a tough-edged little kid to begin with thanks to John’s intermittent bouts of rage and neglect. Sam hadn’t understood what was happening when it began because he’d been too little and Dean had sheltered him from much of it. He didn’t know why his father and brother fought all the time. When he got older, he’d seen the situation for what it really was. Rather than let his little brother get hurt, Dean had been drawing the fire to himself.

Without Sam by his side, Dean just stopped caring about anyone or anything. He was bounced from foster home to foster home, giving them all kinds of hell at every turn. Most of the foster parents that he was thrust upon treated him like garbage and the social workers he encountered were spread too thin to notice. Not that Dean trusted any of them enough to actually talk to them anyway. As for the other kids he was forced to live with, his new “brothers” and “sisters” – they were just plain afraid of him. According to what he told Sam whenever they could arrange visits with each other, Dean preferred it that way.

_~1995~_

_“Dean!”_

_Dean turned and saw Sam running toward him full speed across the park, the smile on his face bright enough to rival the noonday sun. His cheeks were getting rounder with baby fat now that his new parents were feeding him like they were trying to make up for lost time. It made Dean happy down to the soles of his feet to see his little brother looking like any average twelve year old kid._

_“Heya, Sammy!” Dean grinned and held his arms open wide. He was nearly knocked back into the grass when Sam plowed right into him and gave him a bear hug._

_“I missed you,” Sam said, his words muffled against Dean’s t-shirt, “It’s been a whole month this time.”_

_“I know, I know. I couldn’t help it. They moved me to a new place and it took a while to get it all settled so I could come.” Dean released him and they walked together over to their usual picnic table under the shade trees. The park was their favorite meeting place because it was an easy walk from the bus station where Dean would arrive into town from wherever his current foster home might be._

_“They moved you again?” Sam asked. “What did you do?”_

_“Nothing!” Dean hopped up on top of the table, sitting with his feet on the bench and his elbows resting on his knees. Sam mimicked him, taking a seat next to him, hip to hip. “They wanted to call me Daniel.”_

_“Daniel?” Sam said, scrunching up his nose in disgust. “But you already have a name.”_

_“That’s what I told them! They said that Dean was a heathen name and that I needed to be baptized like a good Christian with a name from the Bible. I guess they rename all their fosters like we’re some goddamn rescue dogs or something. I told them they could kiss my ass.”_

_Sam giggled at him. It was Dean’s favorite sound in the world. “You didn’t.”_

_“Course I did,” Dean said with a snort, “Then these morons sent me to my room with no dinner and locked me in. Like I’m fresh fish or something and I don’t know how to pick a lock. I was halfway to the bus station to come surprise you when the cops picked me up and brought me back. Fucking bastards.”_

_“So where do you live now? Are they nicer than the last ones?” Sam asked him hopefully._

_“Shawnee. They’re alright so far,” Dean shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s only been a few days. Young couple with no kids. I’m their first foster so I think they don’t know what they hell they’re doing yet.”_

_Sam ducked his head and stared down at his sneakers. “You could try, you know,” he said softly. “If they like you then maybe they’ll keep you. Shawnee isn’t so far away. We could see each other more often.” Sam swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I just miss you so much.”_

_Dean couldn’t stand to see his little brother unhappy. Even worse, it was all his fault for being such a fuckup. He just couldn’t help himself sometimes. Angry, hurting, and rudderless, most days it was all he could do to keep himself together - nevermind trying to deal with the parade of assholes that he was forced to live with. He didn’t give a damn about any of those sons of bitches and he wasn’t shy about making that fact clear. The catch was that when they inevitably got fed up with him he’d be relocated, and his constant moving made it hard for him and Sam to see each other. He knew that Sam worried about him and the last thing that Dean wanted was to make his life any harder. He deserved much better than that._

_Dean leaned over and hugged an arm around his brother, resting his head against Sam’s. He missed this most of all. That closeness they always shared. Not having Sam within arm’s reach anymore felt like a part of him had been amputated. He needed the security of that contact more than he’d like to admit, even to himself. “Don’t be sad, Sammy,” he said, his voice pitched low for Sam’s ears alone. “Smile for me. Everything’s right again in the world when you smile.”_

_Sam nuzzled his head against Dean’s, shivering with excitement for that affection like an eager puppy. Dean felt the smile that spread across his face and he heard it in his voice. “You’re the best, Dean.” Then he shifted, curling up on the table top with his head resting in Dean’s lap._

_It was a familiar habit of Sam’s and Dean knew his part well. Obligingly, he pet his brother’s hair, scritching the base of his scalp like he liked. Absolute love and trust radiated from Sam’s face, reminding Dean of the china angel that their mother used to cherish._

_When Dean was a baby, she would often say, “Angels are watching over you.” She was gone now but she’d left him an angel of his own to watch over._

_~~~_

_Later that night, he was sitting in the livingroom watching some boring as hell reality competition show with his new foster parents, Caitlin and Tom. They kept glancing at each other and then back at him with nervous smiles on their faces. They were desperately trying to make this family ‘quality time’ thing work. It was awkward and forced but he’d promised Sam that he’d try._

_All of a sudden the telephone rang. Caitlin lowered the volume on the TV and picked up the wireless handset. “Hello? Yes, hold on he’s right here.” She held the phone out to Dean, tucking her dishwater blonde hair behind her ear with her free hand. “It’s for you.”_

_Dean took it from her and sprang up from his seat, hurrying off to the privacy of his bedroom. The only people who would ever call for him would be his case worker Karen – fat fucking chance of her actually deigning to check up on him – or Sam, who he’d given this phone number to only a few hours ago. Sam calling him so soon after they’d just seen each other was out of the ordinary enough to have Dean good and worried._

_He closed the bedroom door behind him quietly and sat on his bed. “Hello?”_

_“Dean!” Sam cried, hiccupping through a sob on the other end of the line. “We’re moving away.”_

_“What?” Dean prayed that he’d heard wrong. This couldn’t be happening to them again. Not when he’d finally found a decent home that was closer to Sam than he’d been in a long time._

_“W-we’re moving,” Sam repeated, sounding miserable and scared – almost as bad as the night the authorities had taken them from John. “Bobby and Ellen got offered jobs at another college. I guess they’d been talking about it for a while but they didn’t know for sure that they both got it until today. Summer’s almost over so we have less than a month before we have to l-leave. I don’t want to leave, Dean. I wanna stay here with you.”_

_Still reeling from the news, Dean heard the desperation in Sam’s voice so he tried to put on a brave front for his sake. “It’s okay, Sammy. We’ll figure something out. Where is the college?”_

_Sam starting crying in earnest again. It took a few moments before he could get out the words. “V-Vermont. They’re taking me to Vermont with them.”_

_All the blood drained from Dean’s face and he dropped the phone on the floor with a hollow clatter. He could hear Sam yelling his name through the phone but it was very faint, almost drowned out completely by the roar of his own heartbeat in his ears. Something in his chest seized up like a clenched fist. They were taking Sammy away from him again. Thousands of miles separating him from his brother, his best friend, the only person in the world who cared if he lived or died._

_Dean went ballistic. It was like part of him shutdown completely and something else took over, possessing him in a fit of ferocious rage. The lamp on his nightstand was the first victim, shattering against the back of the door. Next was the alarm clock which was flung straight through the mirror over his dresser._

_Tom and Caitlin came running and opened his bedroom door to see what was happening. Tom slammed it shut again just in time to avoid getting a picture frame to the temple. “Caitlin! Run next door and call the police!” he shouted. “This fucking kid’s lost his mind!”_

_Dean was past caring anymore. Another house that wasn’t his home. Another family that wasn’t his kin. What did it matter? They were taking his Sammy away._

_By the time the cops showed up he’d broken nearly everything within reach that wasn’t nailed down. He was remanded to a group home to cool off until he could be placed. Three weeks later he was finally sent to another foster family. Two hours after that he was out the bedroom window, running for the bus station as fast as his legs would carry him. He was already too late._

 

~~~

The night that he’d called Dean to tell him that he was moving away was the last time that Sam had ever heard from his brother. He had cried himself to sleep at night for weeks. The Singers had tried to help locate Dean but it seemed that he’d run away from his last family and stayed gone. The social workers they contacted back in Kansas to help were too overwhelmed to bother with tracking down such a problem child. Ultimately his adoptive parents thought that the best thing for Sam would be for him to put his old life behind him and try to be happy. They had meant well, but they just didn’t get it. Dean wasn’t _just_ Sam’s brother. To Sam, Dean was Han Solo, and Robin Hood, and Indiana Jones, and Batman all rolled into one. He was his best friend, teacher, nursemaid, and bodyguard. The axis that Sam’s world rotated on. And then Dean was gone, and Sam had to learn to become someone else. He quietly folded himself away and became Sam Singer instead. He didn’t really have a choice. There was no Sam Winchester without his Dean.

When he grew older, he tried to track Dean down on his own. The records social services kept on him were spotty at best and ended altogether by the time Dean was sixteen and a half. After that, the farthest he was able to get was a record of Dean’s enlistment in the Marines when he was eighteen years old, his re-enlistment at twenty-two, and finally a record of him going MIA during an enemy engagement in Iraq at twenty-four. Anything past that seemed to be a solid wall of bureaucracy that Sam just couldn’t penetrate. He watched clips of men in camouflage fighting and dying in the desert thousands of miles away on the evening news and feared the worst.

~~~

Now at thirty years old, Sam was thrust right back into the whirlwind of emotions surrounding his past. Dean was alive and he didn’t quite know how to process it. The thought of finally seeing his brother again after all these years was exciting and terrifying at the same time.

Sam spent the whole drive from the airport in Kansas City to Lawrence formulating a plan in his head. He’d go to their old house first and get himself settled in there and then he’d go find Dean using the address he’d been given by their dad’s lawyer. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say yet. How does somebody even begin that conversation? It’s not something he could just blurt out. Would Dean even care? Would there be any place for him in his brother’s life after all this time?

They’d been apart for so long and it wasn’t like the years that they had together had been all sunshine and lollipops to begin with. Dean had spent most of his childhood taking care of Sam. He’d considered it his responsibility to. Sam wouldn’t be surprised if that’s how Dean would still see him, an obligation that he had to deal with. Or worse, a reminder of a part of his life that he’d understandably want to forget. It would explain why he hadn’t ever mentioned he had a brother to their dad’s lawyer before. Maybe as a little kid Sam been more of a burden to Dean than anything else, but that was in the past. He was his own man now and he didn’t need anyone taking care of him. If Dean got to know him a little as a person before he confessed who he really was maybe his brother would get a chance to see that. Maybe even respect him as an equal. Sam would give anything to be able to have a fresh start with Dean. He was going to do everything he could to make that happen.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam pulled up in front of the house and cut the engine. The cheap green aluminum siding was exactly as he remembered it. He got out and walked through the gate of the white picket fence which was chipped and peeling with age. The rose bushes and sweet pea vines that his mother had planted before he’d been born had grown wild and had taken over most of the yard, making the property look like something out of Grimm’s fairy tales. John wasn’t exactly the gardening type.

The front door creaked pitifully as Sam swung it open. Apparently John wasn’t the cleaning type either anymore. Piles of old mail and newspapers littered the entryway. Sam stepped around them and wandered through the first floor. It was like walking through a time capsule. Everything in the livingroom was a bit more dusty and worn in places but essentially nothing much had changed since he was a little kid, including the big ancient TV in the corner. In the kitchen he found the fridge empty except for an old bottle of mustard, something that once upon a time might have been a tomato, and about a dozen Hungry Man frozen dinners. Nutrition wasn’t a top priority to the kind of guy who would drink himself to death.

Upstairs, Sam went to his old bedroom first. Nothing had been moved an inch since the last time he’d seen it as evidenced by a thick layer of dust. He wasn’t surprised at all. Both John and Dean avoided going into his room whenever possible because that was the room where his mother had burned. He’d been only six months old when it happened but Dean had been four, old enough to have that night seared into his memory.

His dad had arrived home late from his job at the auto body shop to find her fast asleep in the overstuffed chair in Sam’s nursery. She must have nodded off while reading him a story.

That night she had been particularly exhausted because Sam was just getting over a bout of colic where for three weeks straight no amount of fussing or comforting would soothe his cries. In desperation she had taken a sleeping pill after finally getting the baby to sleep, counting on John to coming home any minute to take over for her with the kids.

Rather than disturb her, John had tossed a quilt over his sleeping wife, checked on the boys one final time, and then gone to bed with the baby monitor poised on his nightstand in case the baby cried.

In the middle of the night, a spark from a faulty electrical outlet ignited the fabric of her chair and sent flames eating their way up to the blanket. The batteries in their fire alarm were dead so her family had no warning of what was happening as she lay sedated and helpless. Gradually the heat and the crackle of the flames woke the baby and he cried for his mother. John woke to the sound of his infant son’s screams before the fire could engulf the whole room. He thrust baby Sam into little Dean’s arms, ordering him to take his brother outside while he batted the flames back as best he could. By the time the fire trucks and ambulances had arrived, their mother had sustained severe burns over sixty percent of her body. Less than 24 hours later, Mary Winchester was pronounced dead. What no one realized at the time was that John Winchester died that day too, only it took the alcohol another twenty four years to finish the job completely.

~~~

The specter of that night lay like a pall over the room which was why as a child Sam didn’t like to be in there alone. It made him sad and it scared him for reasons that he didn’t understand. Now, even as an adult Sam felt strange being in there so he moved on to Dean’s room. As soon as he saw the familiar blue walls he finally felt like he was home. This was where all the brightest moments of his childhood took place.

Sam sat down on the narrow twin bed and looked around. As a toddler he had slept there curled up next to his brother every night, too afraid to sleep in his own room alone. When he got bigger, Dean never told him to leave and eventually it had just become habit. Dean’s old toys and the books they would read together were still there, tucked away on their shelves. A baseball mitt lay on a stack of Batman comic books on the bureau like it was just waiting for Dean to come back someday and play. Sam leaned down and pressed his face into the pillow but there was no trace of his brother’s scent left on it.

Finally he went into his dad’s room, feeling the old anxious fear crawl up his skin. John’s room had always been taboo. A place he associated with his brother’s muffled cries of pain.

Although it looked like John hadn’t changed much in the other rooms of the house, his own bedroom was clearly his fortress. Or more accurately, a prison of his own making. Empty liquor bottles were scattered around the room and the sheets on the beat up old mattress were threadbare and grey with layers of dried sweat. Stacks of books were piled around room haphazardly. Molding Chinese food containers, empty Coke bottles, and used paper plates littered the top of the dresser. It was night and day from how his father had lived before Sam and his brother had been taken away. John Winchester had always been a tidy man with military rigidity that had been drilled into him from his years as a Marine. It was the thing that he butted heads with Dean about most. Seeing how far his father had fallen from his own standards was shocking to say the least.

Out of the corner of his eye Sam saw something on his father’s nightstand. A journal? Huh.

He picked it up, half-expecting John to come barreling into the room any second to catch him red-handed. He felt guilty even opening it, but the battered leather-bound notebook was probably the most reliable link to his father that he had left. Maybe it would shed some light on what had become of the man he knew. Sam hadn’t come here for this. He honestly hadn’t. He had forcibly put his father out of his mind a long time ago. But now he was handed a second chance to get some of the questions that were buzzing around in his head answered from John’s own hand. His naturally voracious curiosity wouldn’t allow him to let it go.

First things first though. As long as he was going to be camping out at the house he’d need someplace to sleep. There was no way in hell he was going to use his Dad’s room. Even after he cleaned it up some it still felt wrong for him to just make himself comfortable in there. Ultimately he decided to move his old bed into Dean’s room and shoved the two twins together in order to create something big enough to fit all six foot four of him. Sam unpacked his things into Dean’s old dresser drawers, shifting some of the clothes and toys around to make space. At some point he probably needed to sort out what could be donated to Goodwill. He stretched out on the double-wide bed and opened the journal to the first entry.

 

~~~

Three hours passed in total silence except for the whisper of yellowed pages turning over. Finally Sam had to stop. It was getting dark outside and he no longer had enough light to read by. In the dark blue dim of half past sunset, Sam stared up at the ceiling while his mind raced in circles. He had been too little to remember some things and others his dad had obviously kept hidden. Reliving it all now through his writing was bringing a lot of those memories flooding back in for Sam from where he’d buried them.

The journal itself read like a whiskey-soaked exercise in clinical depression with lots of empty spaces where it’s more than likely John had just blacked out for a while. Charles Bukowski would have been proud. The parts that were coherent showed a man who was just barely hanging on by his fingernails.

_It should have been me. I can’t do this without her._

_I can’t unsee it. My beautiful girl burning. Screaming and burning._

_I’m so tired. When I’m not tired, I’m angry. I want to tear my skin off I’m so fucking angry. How am I supposed to live like this? She took the best parts of me with her._

_The pastor came by today again. He says I have to keep going for my boys. What the fuck does he know? I can still smell her hair. I think I’m losing my mind._

_The baby was crying last night. I was asleep and I was annoyed that Mary was just letting him cry like that for so long. Then I remembered. I wish I could have stayed asleep where she’s still alive. She’s still alive behind my eyes._

_Samuel cries all the time. A little red-faced stranger in my house. He looks at me and I know he knows that I’m not enough. I’m not her. He’ll only stop crying for his brother._

If it had just been a story about some grief stricken young widower with two little kids Sam wouldn’t have had a problem feeling sorry for him. But he knew already knew what happened at the end of this story and it wasn’t fiction. John couldn’t pull himself out of the tailspin that he’d fallen into. He’d embraced the darkness festering inside of him and dragged his sons down into it with him. Sam wished he could have met the young man he was reading about and gotten him some professional help before it was too late. Maybe if someone had cared enough to slap some sense into him, made it their business to intervene and get him help things wouldn’t have turned out the way they did.

“Damn you, John. How could you?” he demanded aloud to the empty house.

It offered him no answers.

~~~

The indignant grumbling of his neglected stomach is what finally propelled Sam out of bed in search of something to quiet it. It was getting late and he was too tired from traveling all day to bother with going to a grocery store even if he managed to find one that might be open. Instead he opted to go out in search of a bar or someplace where he could get a cheap meal and a few beers to help him unwind a little. He tooled around downtown Lawrence in his little rental, taking note of how much the city had grown since his youth. The University of Kansas and its ever growing student population had done the city proud, pushing it into the twenty-first century much faster than its prairie neighbors. The main drag of Massachusetts Street was alive with tipsy twenty-somethings showing off for each other. They wandered up and down the avenue searching out friends, hookups, and cheap drinks. A few years ago back at Stanford, Sam would have counted himself among their ranks. Now he couldn’t help but smile as he drove past them. He was in search of other things.

What he found was a cozy neighborhood tavern called Dempsey’s with a chalkboard sign out front that promised the best pub burger in town. It looked relatively slow for a weekend night which was just the speed Sam was hoping for. Inside, the worn dark wood paneling and faded Jayhawks banners signaled thatit was definitely a local’s spot, content to eschew the slick and modern in favor of well-loved nostalgia. There were a few booths occupied by older couples on a night out and a table of women that looked to be in their early-forties, wearing painted on smiles and plunging necklines. One of the women, a redhead who looked like a pack a day habit of Marlboros, gave him a long slow lookover from head to toe. Not the slightest bit interested in becoming her next meal, Sam elected to grab the last free seat at the long mahogany bar.

The bartender, a stocky white-haired man, walked over to him and planted his thick-fingered paws onto the gleaming wood surface. “What’ll it be?”

Sam picked a menu up that someone had left on the bartop and turned it over trying to find the drink list. “Um, what do you have on tap?”

The man blinked once at him and then scowled. “Go fuck yourself.” He stalked off to the other end of the bar to slice some lemons, leaving Sam staring after him in shock.

“Holy shit that was the best thing I’ve seen all day!”

Sam turned to the man at the stool next to him who was practically shaking with half-contained laughter, his hand covering his mouth as he tried to hold back a guffaw at Sam’s expense.

He was beautiful. That was the only word for it. Bottle green eyes and dark blonde hair.   Solid muscular body and lightly tanned skin like he got most of his exercise outdoors rather than shackled to a weight machine. He was smiling, full lips curving and little creases appearing at the corners of his eyes. If he had walked right out of one of Sam’s wet dreams he couldn’t have been more perfectly tailor-made for him.

“You alright there, buddy?” the man asked.

Sam realized then that he’d been staring at the guy like a slaw-jawed idiot. “Ah, yeah.”

The small wrinkle of concern across the stranger’s brow relaxed away. “Don’t worry about Phil. He’s like that with everyone. They’ve got over a 100 different kinds of beer here. There’s just no way in hell he was about to rattle them all off for you.”

“Oh, I didn’t know. Just wanted a burger, really.” Sam couldn’t think of anything more intelligent than that to say at the moment. His brain was still stuck on the guy’s mouth.

“New around here, huh? I don’t think I’ve seen you around town before. Pretty sure I would have remembered.” He smiled again, something a little different about it this time that had Sam’s blood heating. It wasn’t the first time a guy had looked at Sam like that but never one who looked like sex on legs. “Yeah. Kinda am,” Sam managed. “How about you?”

“Nah, not me.   I grew up here.   Mostly.” The guy took a sip of his beer and Sam did his best not to stare at the way his lips wrapped around the mouth of the bottle. “Where are you coming from?”

So Dream Man was a townie, Sam thought to himself. They might have even went to the same grammar school. Not that this guy would remember someone like the kid he used to be. He’d probably been one of the popular kids who might as well have lived on a different plane of existence than Sam had. “San Francisco,” he replied, choosing the short answer rather than launch into the more complicated explanation.

“California, huh?” Dreamy’s eyes lit up with interest. “Never been myself. So is it all movie stars smashing up hotel rooms and hippies on organic farms like everyone says?”

Sam laughed. “No. That’s LA. Northern California is totally different. It’s great, really. You should go. You might like it.”

“Yeah maybe someday.” Dreamy drained the last of his beer and sent Phil the bartender a short wave, signaling him that another round was in order.

Phil gave him a nod and rolled his eyes as the white-haired couple at the bar in front of him continued to squint at the food menu.

In the midst of their silent exchange, Sam caught sight of the pinky finger of his new friend’s raised hand and did a double take. It was bent at an unnatural angle. Something about it made the little hairs on the back of Sam’s neck stand on end.

Dreamy caught him staring.   “Looks kinda wonky doesn’t it?”

Sam looked away, a little embarrassed and uneasy. “Sorry, I didn’t-“

“It’s okay. Been living with it so long I hardly notice it sometimes.” He shrugged, seemingly not self-conscious about it. “Doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

Before Sam could sort through the dozen or so follow up questions that were buzzing around like angry cicadas in his head, Phil the bartender interrupted them. “You figure out what to order yet, Stretch?” he said, giving Sam the stink-eye.

“Oh. Um…” Sam hesitated, earning him a fresh scowl from Phil.

Glancing from one to the other, Sam’s companion thankfully decided to rescue him. “Ah, we might need just another minute here, Phil. Sorry.”

Phil pursed his lips, gave a short nod and moved on, side-eying Sam once more before he did.

“Customer service really isn’t his forte is it?” Sam muttered, thinking out loud before he could stop himself.

Dreamy laughed, a deep almost-musical resonance to it. “You could say that. He’s not the most welcoming guy you’ll ever meet but he pours a stiff drink. Why don’t you let me buy this round? I’m used to him snarling at me by now.” His smile was warm and distracting enough that Sam felt himself relax a little.

“Sure.   Thank you.”

“Great. Name’s Dean Winchester by the way. Like the gun. What’s yours?”

Suddenly the whole bar seemed to tilt and sway in his vision like the bow of a ship in a storm. At the center of that storm was a pair of clear green eyes sparkling with amusement. Eyes that had once looked at him with an impossible love.

 _Dean_. As big as life and sitting close enough to touch. They might have passed each other on the street and Sam never would have recognized him. Now he looked at the handsome stranger beside him and it all seemed to click snugly into place. Right down to his crooked finger. The skinny freckle-faced child he’d known now replaced by a broad-shouldered square-jawed man but it was all the same Dean shining through underneath.

“Hey, you okay man?” Dean asked. “You look a little pale.”

“Ah, yeah.” Sam cleared his throat and tried to pull himself together. “Low blood sugar,” he covered quickly. “I should probably eat something. I’ve been on the road all day and I guess I forgot.”

It had been eighteen years and Sam had grown about four and a half feet since the last time they’d seen each other. He hadn’t expected Dean to recognize him. Actually he’d been counting on that fact for his tentative Introduce-Dean-To-The-New-Me plan. The fact that he hadn’t recognized Dean either and had been quietly lusting after him the moment they’d locked eyes was not at all part of that plan.

He didn’t have time to have the full-on freakout that realization deserved. Dean was staring at him like he was second-guessing his decision to strike up a conversation with the giant socially awkward drifter. Sam briefly thought about playing it safe and calling himself something innocuous like Joe or Steve, but he couldn’t resist the urge to hear his true name in Dean’s rich baritone. “It’s Sam. Sam Harvelle,” he added, borrowing Ellen’s last name from her first marriage.

He watched closely for some kind of reaction which would signal that the name held any meaning for Dean but there was none. His smile was warm but no different than it had been before. “So Sam, what kind of beer do you like? Pilsner? Amber? Dark like a stout?”

Sam wrestled his mind back on track from where it had wandered to Dean’s freckles, still there although harder to see now against his suntanned skin. How had he not noticed them before? “Um, I could go for something darker.”

Dean smiled at him, cracking open places in Sam’s heart that he’d locked away a long time ago. “I think me and you are gonna get along just fine. Let’s get you some grub too.” He held up two fingers to catch the bartender’s attention again. “Hey Phil! Two of the Moose Drool and a couple of cheeseburgers with the works. Thanks.”

“Moose Drool?” Sam repeated skeptically.

“I know. Weird name but it’s a really good craft brew. Trust me.”

~~~

A couple hours later Sam was dragging his last french fry through a pool of ketchup while keeping a close eye on his brother’s every move. Dean had grown up big and strong with GQ looks and a roguish charm that drew people to him like flies to honey. Several times during their conversation over burgers and beer they were interrupted by a friend or acquaintance of his who stopped past for a quick hello. Even Phil the surly bartender seemed somewhat less disagreeable when it was Dean who was bothering him for another round. It was immensely gratifying, if a little bit intimidating, to know that Dean was clearly well-liked and appreciated here.

Dean talked and Sam mostly just listened, learning as much as he could. Dean was a firefighter and a regular at Dempsey’s as it was a short walk from his station house. He was surprisingly knowledgeable about beer, cars, classic rock and was an avid fan of some medical drama Sam had never heard of. As the alcohol kept flowing he’d also learned that Dean was a widower, his wife having died four years ago from ovarian cancer.

Lisa and Dean met when he rotated back stateside after his first tour in Iraq, making it the second war he’d seen already after his time in Afghanistan. He’d gone to Chicago to pay his respects to the family of fellow marine, Brad “Big Dog” Braeden. Brad and him had been buddies since boot camp when Dean had felled him like a tree during hand-to-hand combat training. Brad had sat down next to him at chow that night and informed Dean of their new friendship like it was a foregone conclusion.

_“I like you Winchester. You’re a tough little shit,” he’d said matter-of-factly. “I’m going to make Battalion Recon someday and I want you on my six when I do. Whadda say? Think you got what it takes?”_

From that moment on the two young men had been thick as thieves. Until Brad had been killed during the invasion of Baghdad. The Big Dog had gone home in a box and Dean had lost his closest friend. Brad’s little sister, Lisa, had been there to comfort him.

“I had about two years left on my second enlistment term. I was staying with Lisa waiting to be redeployed when we found out she was pregnant. So you know, I tried to do the right thing by her. We went down to city hall and got married. Then a couple months later she had Ben. By that time I was already back in country.”

Sam nearly spit out the beer he’d been drinking. Dean had a kid? That meant he was an uncle. _Holy shit_ he was an uncle! “You have a son?”

Dean eyed him warily. “Yeah. What? You don’t like kids?”

“No! No, I like kids. Theoretically. I just didn’t think…you don’t exactly come off like someone’s dad. I mean don’t get me wrong, I’m sure you’re a great father and everything-“

“It’s cool man,” Dean said. “I was young and dumb. Didn’t know what I was getting into on a lot of levels. Lisa pretty much raised him on her own that first year while I was overseas. She was a real natural at it, you know? Then I came home for good and everything got complicated. We weren’t much better than strangers but we had Ben so we were trying to make it work as best we could. Then she got sick. She fought it for two years but by his fourth birthday she was gone.”

Dean paused to take a long drag on his beer. Sam tried to imagine him fresh out of a warzone with a young kid and a wife slowly dying of cancer and felt a crushing amount of guilt over it. He should have been there to help. His brother had clearly needed someone to lean on and he hadn’t been there.

“Shit,” Dean said with a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to bring you down with my sob story, man. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I’m not usually this much of a sharer”

Sam had to grip the edge of the bar to physically stop himself from reaching out and giving Dean the hug he so desperately wanted to. “No! It’s okay don’t mind.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “So what made you move back to Lawrence? You have family here or something?”

Dean shook his head. “No, no family to speak of really. Chicago was Lisa’s hometown but…I don’t know. I wanted Ben to grow up in a safe place where he could have a yard and live in a house instead of an apartment. A real home, you know?

Sam held his tongue even though he knew that what Dean said wasn’t the whole truth. John would have still been alive when Dean moved back and there was no way that returning to Lawrence had nothing to do with that part of his past. It just wasn’t the time to open that particular can of worms.

“Anyways,” Dean said, interrupting Sam’s thoughts. “I’ve told you probably more than you ever wanted to know about me. What about you? What brings you all the way from San Francisco to Middle-of-Nowhere, Kansas?”

Sam had prepared for this. He’d made up something of a cover story on the drive to Lawrence. “I’m an attorney. I came here from San Francisco on sort of a fact-finding mission. There’s a potential client in town that I’m trying to gather some more information on. This client…he’s stubborn and probably doesn’t think that he needs my help, but I’m hoping to convince him that he does. So far he seems to be worth the effort.” He hoped that his story sounded at least somewhat impressive. Little did Dean know that he was Sam’s ‘stubborn client’.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow. This whole time I’ve been sitting here drinking with a friggin’ lawyer?”

“Yeah. What? You don’t like lawyers?” Sam asked with a smirk, trying for levity.

“No! No, I like lawyers. Theoretically,” Dean joked, tossing Sam’s earlier words right back at him. “So just passing through then, huh?”

Sam knew what he should say. He had a great job and a life waiting for him back in California. Instead, he said what he felt. “I hadn’t planned on staying much longer than it took to assess the situation and maybe work in a meeting or two. But I don’t know, maybe I will stay a while after all. I’m starting to really like it here.”

Dean smiled brightly. “Cool. I’m glad.” He reached out and gave Sam a friendly pat on the back of his shoulder. Something stirred in the air between them when his hand rested there just a breath longer than strictly necessary.

Sam had a momentary flashback to another time. The press of Dean’s hand against his knobby twelve-year-old spine, resting his chin in the crook of Sam’s neck and hugging tight.

_Don’t be sad Sammy. Smile for me. Everything’s right again in the world when you smile._

Dean cleared his throat and stood up. “Listen, I should probably get going,” he said, tossing a few bills onto the bar. “Ben is staying with a friend of mine and she’ll murder me if I don’t stop by to collect him soon.”

“Yeah okay,” Sam said. He felt a little unsteady on his feet when he stood up and he was fairly certain it had nothing to do with the beer. “I should probably head out too.” He settled his tab and followed Dean out of the bar.

A misty September rain poured down, drumming against the pavement and making the street outside look all soft and hazy like they were seeing it through frosted glass. They crowded together in the doorway watching it fall with their shoulders just brushing in the narrow space. Sam realized for the first time that he was taller than his big brother and it felt all wrong to him, his own body suddenly a clumsy fit of overgrown limbs next to Dean’s easy grace.

“It’s really coming down, isn’t it?” he said, watching Dean’s profile in the neon light of the bar sign. “Where did you park your car?”

“It’s back at the station. I walked over.” Dean stared up at the dark grey clouds against the black night sky. “Not the best idea as it turns out.”

“I can give you a ride,” Sam offered.

“Thanks, man. I’d appreciate it.”

They dashed through the downpour to Sam’s car and fell into the seats laughing at how soaked they were in just those few seconds. It was only a two block drive to Dean’s station house so the ends of Sam’s hair were still wet and dripping onto the collar of his plaid shirt when he pulled his rental up next to Dean’s big black pickup.

Dean turned and smiled at him. “Well, it was nice meeting ya, Sam.”

“You too.” Sam rubbed his hands nervously along the top of his thighs, feeling oddly like an awkward teenager again. “We should hangout again sometime maybe. I don’t know anyone else in town yet so-“

The rest of his sentence was lost against the press of Dean’s full lips. The kiss itself wasn’t particularly soft or overly aggressive. Even a little disjointed at first until Sam’s instinct overrode his shock and he began to respond, opening for Dean as easy as breathing and matching gentle swipes of Dean’s tongue against his. His body shifted automatically into a gear long ignored but still very much there and it was the closest to perfection that Sam had ever felt. Dean smelled like rain and he tasted like sweet malt ale. His fingers sank into the wet curls at the nape of Sam’s neck as he took the kiss deeper. Somewhere in the back of Sam’s brain he knew that it should have felt nothing but _dirtybadwrong_ but all he felt was _finally_. The only disturbing thing about it was just how disturbing it wasn’t. Sam made a little not-quite whimper, overwhelmed and a lot turned on.

Dean pulled away at the noise. For just a moment, a brief look of confusion crossed his face but as soon as it appeared it was gone again when Sam reflexively licked his kiss-swollen lips and Dean’s eyes were drawn to its movement. He stared at Sam’s mouth like he wanted nothing more but to sink right back into it.

“That was…” Dean blinked the haze of arousal out of his eyes and he seemed suddenly unsure of himself. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed that you…you’re not going to punch me are you? Cause that would suck.”

Sam dragged a hand down his face, trying to gather what was left of his wits. “No, it’s okay. I mean, it was more than okay to be honest.”

Reassured, Dean smiled a big goofy grin at him. “Hell yeah. Alright then.” He pulled out his cell phone. “Give me your number.”

Sam rattled off his phone number on autopilot. The whole thing was so surreal that he felt like he was floating outside of his own body watching it happen to someone else.

When he was done entering it, Dean leaned forward and kissed him again, this time more affection than heat. “I’ll be seeing you.” Then he hopped out into the rain and climbed into his truck.

Sam sat there in stunned silence as his brother drove away into the night and knew at once that he’d led them both down a road that there was no coming back from.


	3. Chapter 3

“Winchester! Get your head out of your ass and hand me that hammer.”

Dean looked up at the burly bearded man above him on the ladder. “Jesus, Benny. Keep your pants on. I’m getting it.”

Benny scowled down at him. “What’s the matter with you? You’ve been addle-brained all morning.”

Dean shook his head, scattering the thoughts of a certain tall dark stranger from his mind. “Nothing’s the matter. Come on, let’s hang this damn thing before the kids show up.”

The banner, which read “Welcome Kennedy Elementary School”, was in honor of the group of fourth graders they were expecting to show up at the station that day for a fire safety program that Chief Deveraux and their principal, Mr. Turner, had arranged.

Dean had been tasked with showing them around the firehouse, showing off the gear, and demonstrating basic fire safety tips. Benny had solemnly promised to be there to fulfill his responsibilities as Dean’s best friend to make fun of him while he was doing it. They had just finished setting up a table full of plastic junior fireman helmets, juice boxes, and cookies when the big yellow school bus pulled up.

“What in the hell did you do to piss the Chief off so bad that he stuck you with this job?” Benny asked through clenched teeth and a plastered on smile as the kids came running off the bus in a hyperactive swarm.

Dean folded his arms in front of himself and stared down dejectedly at his boots. “Area 51,” he mumbled.

“Again?” Benny sighed. “Y’all need to just let it go.”

“I will when he does!” Dean retorted petulantly. “He’s nuts! There are no such thing as aliens. Even if there were - and that’s a big goddamn if - I just don’t believe the federal government could keep a secret like that for this long. Trust me, they’re not that good at their jobs.”

“I’m guessing Frank didn’t appreciate your point of view.”

Dean snorted. “He said “That’s what they want you to think! Blah blah blah”, then he called me an ignorant jarhead and said something about me being brainwashed by the establishment.”

A few teachers began to organize the students into two lines for a headcount. There were supposed to be around fifty kids but they were making enough noise for twice that much.

“And? What did you say?” Benny prompted.

Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his uniform pants. “I may or may not have called him a psychotically delusional X-Files fanboy.”

“Mm-hm.” Benny waved towards the kids as they marched towards them in line. “I have a feeling he’s got the last laugh on this one, brother.”

~~~

By the time the last newly initiated junior firefighter had been accounted for and the school bus had lumbered away with its precious cargo, Dean was exhausted and had a splitting headache. He sat in the firehouse kitchen in his undershirt, his head resting against the cool surface of the large center table and his station uniform shirt hanging unbuttoned from his shoulders. He was waiting for the aspirin he’d taken to kick in while Benny made as much noise as humanly possible making them a fresh pot of coffee. Dean decided to kill him as soon as it finished brewing.

“Ben will never be like that, right?” he moaned pitifully. “Please tell me my kid won’t be a bratty whiny demon child in a year when he’s their age.”

“Course he won’t,” Benny said, taking the seat across from him.

“Thanks.”

“With you as his daddy I reckon he’ll have already started on hot-wiring cars by the time he gets to fourth grade.”

Dean picked his head up. “Left myself wide open for that one, didn’t I?” he deadpanned.

“I wanna say it’s less fun picking at you when you make it so easy but my momma taught me not to lie.”

Before Dean could come up with an appropriately snarky response, the side door to the kitchen swung open and a woman’s voice called out, “Anybody home?”

Benny got up and held the side door open as Pam waltzed in carrying a paper sack of groceries in each arm. She set them down next to Dean with a thunk and tossed her wavy black locks over her shoulder. “You owe me big time, mister.”

“Hey there, gorgeous.” Benny said, looking her up and down with an appreciative eye. “What did you bring me?”

“Just the pleasure of my company,” she returned coyly. “The groceries are for Dean.”

“Well then I think I win.” Benny gave her a wink and Pam rolled her eyes at him but she was smiling when she did.

“What’s all this?” Dean asked peeking into one of the bags.

“Vegetables,” she informed him. “Ever heard of them?

“Vaguely.”

Pam narrowed her eyes at him and put a hand on each black denim-clad hip. “I couldn’t find one item of food in your house last night that wasn’t either frozen or canned.”

“And?”

“And! Ben needs actual nutrition once in a while, Dean. You don’t want him to grow up to be a human garbage disposal like you, do you?”

Dean stood and lifted up the hem of his undershirt to show off his lightly toned abs. “I’m doing just fine thank you very much.”

“Yeah, Pretty Boy, you are _fine_ ,” Pam smirked. “But you’re not going to be running around toting sixty pounds of protective gear into burning buildings forever. When you’re seventy-five and your arteries turn to concrete you’ll be wishing you listened to me about eating healthier.”

Dean lowered his shirt and arched an eyebrow at her. “Are you saying that as a psychic or just as a general pain in my ass?”

“I’m saying it as a friend who wants to keep you alive so I can be a pain in your ass for as long as possible,” Pam huffed. She crossed her arms over the Guns N’ Roses logo on her artfully shredded t-shirt. “I’d do an actual reading for you free of charge if you’d ever let me inside that thick skull of yours.”

“You can read me anytime you want, darlin’,” Benny offered, laying his down home Louisiana drawl on thick like sweet molasses.

Pam gave him a flirtatious glance from under the lashes of her cat-like eyes. “Oh honey, I don’t need to consult the cards to read you. You’re a big old billboard spelling out T-R-O-U-B-L-E in flashing lights.”

“Oh my god! Will you two just get a room already?” Dean groaned. He stalked over to the coffeemaker and snatched his mug out of the cupboard.

“Speaking of getting a room,” Pam said, “How was your date last night?”

Benny pointed a finger at him. “There it is! I knew there was something off with you today.”

“It wasn’t a date!” Dean scowled as he leaned against the counter. “I met this guy at the bar and we just started talking. We hit it off so I texted Pam to stay with Ben a little later than usual so I could hang out with him. No big deal.”

“But do you like him? Do you think he might be “big deal”-worthy?” Pam asked.

Dean poured himself a cup of coffee as he thought about Sam’s almond-shaped hazel eyes, his floppy chestnut hair, and the dimples that lit up his face when he smiled.

“Maybe.”

~~~

Three days had passed since Sam had seen Dean. Kissed Dean. He’d spent them trying valiantly not to have a nervous breakdown.

So far lightening hadn’t struck him dead and the townsfolk hadn’t shown up on his doorstep with pitchforks, which was great and all but not especially reassuring either. His cell phone had also remained silent but that was probably because Dean thought that Sam was just some guy and he was waiting a bit to call him. That made sense. Dean probably doesn’t want to seem overeager for a date. A date with a guy who was actually his little brother. A little brother who found himself shockingly eager to be thought of as a date. It was at this point in that line of thinking that Sam had to stop before he gave himself an aneurism.

To keep himself from going completely insane, Sam was keeping busy around the house as much as possible. He’d thrown himself into cleaning and organizing every room, donating what could be salvaged and throwing away the rest. Dean had made it clear to their dad’s lawyer that he didn’t want any of it and neither did Sam, so he tore through the rooms intent on cleansing them of all the faded mementos that only led to bad memories. The only sentimental items he held on to were Dean’s baseball mitt, Dad’s journal, and a few framed pictures of his mother that he’d found boxed away in the attic. Those he couldn’t part with.

He spent his nights reading more of the journal, delving deeper into the private world inside his father’s mind.

_Danny’s on my case more than usual lately. I don’t know what he wants from me. I show up, I fix the damn cars, and I do it faster and better than anyone else. He’s got no call to chew me out for stupid shit like being late or taking an asshole customer down a peg. He’ll never fire me. I’m the best he’s got and he knows it. He better keep his goddamn opinions to himself if he knows what’s good for him._

_Nightmares are getting worse. Never thought I’d say this but I almost wish they were just about the war again. I know how to deal with those. Vietnam seems like a lifetime ago. I was a different person then._

_I thought I knew what suffering was. I caused some in the name of my country and I felt some in return but I figure that’s what I had coming to me for my part in it. This is different. This is more than I can bear and there’s no enemy handy to make pay for it._

_The booze drowns the nightmares. So I make them drown. I drown too._

_God help me. I can’t look at Dean and not see Mary. Her smile. Her nose. That little curve of her eyebrows when she was calling me out on my bullshit. It hurts too much. He looks to me and I know he’s scared but I can’t see him anymore. I see her ghost mocking me from behind his face and I want to shatter it like glass. What the hell is wrong with me?_

That’s when it had started, Sam thought to himself. By then Dean was seven and their father’s drinking had already taken over their lives. John had always been a strict disciplinarian and didn’t have any qualms about spanking Dean when he misbehaved, but when Dean began to assert his own mind and became outright defiant John responded with an increasing violence.

Sam remembered having been hit only once. He’d talked back to his father and had received a slap across the face for it. That had been the catalyst. Dean never let it happen again because he made sure that whenever John was itching to hurt someone that someone wouldn’t be Sammy. He egged his father on deliberately to divert his attention and keep all that rage directed at him. They settled into a sick kind of pattern that way. John worked at the garage and brought home whatever money he didn’t spend on liquor. Dean took care of Sam and dealt with John as best he could. Sam hid inside his books and clung to Dean’s side, his only source of love and affection.

He and Dean hadn’t had any friends to speak of. Sure, part of it had to do with their own peculiar ways – Sam’s stuttering shyness and Dean’s stony silence around anyone who wasn’t Sam - but the real reason behind their isolation was necessity. They were smart kids. They knew that their homelife wasn’t normal and if anyone found out that Dean was essentially raising them both they’d be in a lot of trouble. As bad as things were at least they were together. They didn’t trust the other kids and especially not the other parents. None of the kids at school understood what it was like to have to go to bed hungry or to have to side-step your father where he’d passed out in the hallway. Maybe it wasn’t healthy how tangled up in each other they were but thinking back on it now, Sam didn’t think either of them would have survived it any other way.

A now this – this thing between them that Sam was equal parts excited and terrified by. Looking back now, maybe it was inevitable.

_~1990~_

_It was bad that night. Not hospital bad, but bad enough that Dean wasn’t trying to hide it. He’d crawled into bed that night next to Sam with puffy bloodshot eyes and lain on his stomach. He never slept on his stomach unless the welts on his back from Dad’s belt made it too painful to do otherwise._

_Sam watched the rise and fall of Dean’s breath for a moment before asking in a small voice, “Are you bleeding?”_

_Dean sniffled. “Don’t think so.”_

_“Lemme see.”_

_Dean rolled onto his side and tugged his t-shirt over his head, letting out a small hiss of pain as the cloth accidentally rubbed against raw skin._

_Sam surveyed the damage. No blood. Just angry red lines crisscrossing his brother’s pale freckled back. Dad must have been holding it by the buckle this time. When he didn’t, the buckle sometimes cut. “You’re okay, Dean.” He chewed his bottom lip, not sure if Dean would let him help more. Dean was unpredictable when he was in pain. Sometimes he had what Sam thought of as ‘the Sads’, which was when he quiet and teary-eyed but welcoming of Sam fussing over him. Other times he had ‘the Mads’ and he would punch the mattress hard until he was tired and snarl at Sam if he so much as looked at him. “Can I help make it better?” Sam asked, hoping he’d read the signs right._

_Dean nodded his head and rolled back onto his stomach, offering his back up to Sam’s attentions._

_Sam blew out the breath he’d been holding and knelt next to Dean on the bed. It had occurred to him to do this a long time ago - a long time ago being a relative term in the mind of small boys. Whenever he got a scraped knee or a skinned elbow Dean kissed it better like Mom used to do for him in the Before times. Sam knew that there was no such thing as magic kisses no matter what the Disney movies told him, but it did make the hurt feeling go away a little. One night when Dad was sick from drinking and his brother was pretending not to cry, he got the idea that maybe if he kissed Dean’s ouches they would hurt less too. Ever since then, when Dean would let him, he would give him what comfort that he could in this small way. Carefully, he bent down and set about placing rows of tiny kisses running parallel to the raised flesh of his brother’s back._

_Dean made a short hiccuping sob then gradually let his muscles go lax as he let Sam take care of him. His breathing slowed and his eyes closed. He was exhausted like he always was after a fight with Dad and he didn’t have that raging anger tonight from the Mads that would sometimes keep him up and pacing like a caged tiger. Sam didn’t want him to fall asleep though. He had questions that he’d been holding in for a while now and they needed answering._

_He sat back on the bed Indian-style. “Dean? Are you still awake?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“How come Dad hates us?”_

_Dean tensed up and opened his eyes. “He doesn’t hate you, Sammy.”_

_Sam picked at a loose thread on the bedspread. “Well he doesn’t like me then.”_

_Dean sighed. “He just doesn’t know you.”_

_Sam nodded, expecting that would be his answer. Then he asked the question he really wanted to know. “How come he hates you?”_

_Dean ducked his head, burrowing deeper into the pillow. “Cause I look like her. It makes him think about her and that makes him angry.”_

_Sam had only ever seen a few pictures of his mother because John didn’t like having them around the house but he knew that Dean was telling the truth just from the hurt in his eyes. “She was pretty like you,” he said, confirming the fact in his own mind._

_Dean made a face. “Am not! Boys aren’t pretty.”_

_Sam didn’t argue, but he knew better. “I don’t get it. Why does thinking about her make him angry? He loved her, didn’t he? People you love are ‘posed to make you happy.” On that point he was sure._

_“Yeah, but when you can’t be with them you get sad and sometimes being sad too much makes you angry.”_

_Sam rolled that around in his head and saw where it made a kind of sense. It also helped explain Dean’s rollercoaster temper and the feeling he himself got whenever his brother was hurt real bad. Like a hurricane was building in his chest and lightening was ready to come shooting out of his fingers. It scared him to think that feeling one day could become permanent just like his father’s had._

_“Dean?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Promise me that you’re going to be with me for always.”_

_Dean looked him in the eye, his expression more serious than Sam had ever seen him. “I promise.”_

_Sam lay down on his stomach next to Dean so that their shoulders touched. Even that little bit of physical contact gave him courage. “You have to, okay? Cause I make you better.” He felt his throat getting tight with tears but he needed Dean to understand. Not just promise, cause he knew Dean would promise him anything, but it was important to him that Dean understand the reason. “I make you better when you hurt and I can help you from being angry like Dad is. And you help me. You help me all the time, Dean.”_

_“I said I promise.” Dean draped his arm over Sam’s back in a loose hug. “I’m not going anywhere, Sammy. Who takes care of you better than me, huh?”_

_“Nobody,” Sam insisted with a watery tremble in his voice._

_“That’s right. That’s my job and I’m not quitting on you.”_

_“What about when we grow up? You won’t forget about me will you?”_

_Dean rubbed Sam’s back to soothe him, his own pain momentarily pushed to the side. “Nope. Not ever. We’ll grow up and get wives and nice houses and they can be best friends like we are. It’ll be great.”_

_Sam frowned. He didn’t like the idea of Dean falling in love with some girl and going to live with her instead of him. “I don’t want a wife and I don’t want you to have one either.”_

_Dean pulled back and gave him a confused look. “Why not?”_

_Sam thought about it for a moment. “Why can’t I just be your wife? Then we’ll only need one house.” That really just made the most sense, didn’t it?_

_Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Cause boys can’t be wives, stupid. Boys are the husbands.”_

_“Fine. I’ll be your husband,” Sam continued undaunted. “And you be my husband. And we’ll live in the nice house together. And we’ll have a dog too. And a cat.” The more he thought about it the better this growing up thing was starting to sound._

_Dean snorted a laugh at him. “We can’t have a cat ‘cause I’m allergic to them and we can’t be husbands because men can’t marry other men. They have to marry girls. Besides, we’re already brothers and that’s way better than anything else.”_

_Sam was not convinced. Lots of kids in his class had brothers but none of them needed each other like he needed Dean. “Are you sure?”_

_Dean ruffled his hair affectionately. “Positive. Now come on, let’s go to sleep already.”_

_Nodding his head, Sam tucked himself in tighter against his brother’s warmth and closed his eyes but in the pit of his stomach he knew that Dean was wrong. They were special. They were different._

~~~

The memory of that night and a dozen others like it played over and over on rotation in Sam’s head while he dug in the yard trying to restore order to the weeds and bramble that had taken it over.

He dragged his forearm across his sweaty forehead, leaving a smear of dirt in its path. Looking around, he surveyed his work. Not too shabby considering he could never be accused of having a green thumb. At least now he could distinguish one plant from the next. It made the whole house look like someone cared about it again and that made him feel pretty damn good.

Sam was gathering up the gardening tools he’d found in the shed when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Nervous excitement made his hand shake when he saw that it was a local number. It could only be one person.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Sam? This is Dean Winchester. We met the other night at Dempsey’s?”

“Yeah, I remember. How’s it going?”

“Good. Real, good. Hey, how’s that thing you were telling me about with your client shaping up? Made any progress?”

Sam sat down on the front porch steps and adjusted his phone to a more comfortable position. “Um, yeah it’s progressing. I’m putting together the whole picture piece by piece and it’s starting to make sense.”

“Cool. That’s great. So you’re sticking around here for the moment then?”

_I’m not going anywhere, Sammy._

_“_ Yeah. Yeah, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Well in that case, how about letting me take you to dinner tomorrow night? If you don’t have any other plans that is.”

_Who takes care of you better than me, huh?_

_“_ Nobody.” Sam cleared his throat anxiously. “I-I mean, nothing. No plans. Dinner sounds great.”

~~~

Sam sat twisting his napkin nervously in his fingers as he watched the restaurant door waiting for Dean to show up. He had no idea how this was going to go but he knew that he was already in way over his head.

Before Sam had arrived in Lawrence he’d given some thought to the fact that eventually after he came clean to Dean about being his long lost brother that he’d also have to let him know that he was gay. His adopted parents had been amazing about it when he’d come out to them, and aside from a few narrow-minded assholes in high school he had never had an issue with telling anyone about his sexual identity. He didn’t know much about Dean’s life in the years that they’d been apart, but he assumed that the kind of opinions about gay men that he would have be exposed to in the Marine Corps might have caused Dean to be somewhat less than receptive to the news. Never in a million years did he think that Dean himself would be, well – at the least bisexual if their current situation was any indication. He hadn’t figured on this new development in their relationship at all.

He couldn’t lie to himself. He wanted it. Maybe this is what he’d wanted all along but was too young at the time to recognize it for what it was. What he didn’t know was if Dean would feel the same way once he knew the truth. Sam just had to summon the courage to tell him before things went any further.

The front door to the restaurant opened and Dean sailed in. He looked damn good all cleaned up in a pale blue dress shirt. Sam waved him over and Dean passed by the hostess with a quick smile, making a beeline right for him.

“Hey, didn’t keep you waiting too long did I?” he said, taking the seat across from him.

Sam shook his head. “Nope. I’m just compulsively early.”

“Okay, good. Pam on the other hand is compulsively late so she set me back a bit getting over here.”

“Pam?” That was a name that Sam hadn’t heard before.

“Yeah, she’s a friend of mine,” Dean said laying his napkin on his lap. “She picks up Ben after school for me sometimes and watches him for me on the nights I’m on duty. And whenever else I need her to if I beg a little.”

“Wow, that’s a good friend.”

Dean smiled warmly, affection obvious on his face. “She’s great. Ben loves her to pieces.” He folded his hands on the table, leaning in on his elbows. “She’s a psychic actually.”

“A psychic?” Sam asked skeptically. “Is that how she makes her living?”

“No, no. She does airbrush art and design work for a custom motorcycle shop. The whole psychic thing is something that she says runs in her family. Not that I really believe in all that junk,” Dean added, “but I tell ya, it does make me feel kinda good about having someone with her intuition, or foresight, or whatever you want to call it watching out for my kid when I’m not around.”

The waitress came by and took their orders, both of them choosing the steak on Dean’s recommendation that it was “a thing of bovine beauty” and bottle of red that was a particular favorite of Sam’s. Dean screwed up his face at idea of drinking wine and not beer, but Sam had spent enough weekends in Napa during his Stanford days to feel confident about it. “Hey, I trusted you about the Moose Drool. Now it’s your turn to trust me about the Barbera Reserve.”

“Okay,” Dean held his hands up in playful surrender. The waitress nodded and wandered off to place their order. “So,” he said, “How’d you get to be a grape juice junkie?”

Sam laughed and leaned closer, unconsciously mimicking Dean’s posture. All nervousness was gone as he basked in his brother’s undivided attention.

~~~

They ate steak and drank wine, which Dean admitted was pretty damn good, and Sam told him all about his work at the law firm, Stanford, and some bits and pieces about his life in San Francisco. It felt so easy and natural to talk to Dean with none of the usual shyness and self-consciousness that he usually felt on a first date.

When they were finished eating, they sat back and relaxed as they finished off the bottle. Neither one of them were in a hurry for the night to be over.

“Can I ask you a sort of personal question?” Sam asked at length.

“Shoot.”

“Well, I was just wondering what it must be like for you working as a firefighter in that kind of…atmosphere.” Sam didn’t really know how to finish that sentence but mercifully Dean nodded, seeming to understand.

“You mean am I out at work?” Dean asked. “Yeah, I am.” He shifted in his seat, fidgeting a bit with his fork before he continued. “Not that it’s any of their business really, but after all those years in the marines with that “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” bullshit I just decided that I wasn’t going to live like that anymore. Most of them were cool with it. They rag on me a little but on the whole they don’t mean anything by it. Just busting my balls because that’s how they are with everyone. A couple of them can be assholes about it sometimes but I don’t give a damn about what they think as long as it doesn’t affect the job.”

Sam found himself with a whole new respect for his brother. “That’s cool. Seriously, that probably took a lot of guts.”

Dean shrugged like it was no big deal. “You do what you gotta do, right?” He took a sip of his wine. “No one cares very much what kind of sex I’m having or with who when I’m pulling them out of a second-story window.”

He was smiling when he said it like it was a joke, but Sam noticed that the (adorable) little crinkles that he had around his eyes before were absent. Not a real smile then. Maybe a change of subject was in order. “Tell me if I’m crossing a line here but…you and Pam? Did you guys ever…? I mean, you said you were married before so I assume that you do date women.” Sam blushed a little, feeling awkward now that the words were out of his mouth.

Dean laughed. “Yeah, no. Pam and I never dated.” Ducking his head bashfully, he bit his bottom lip and let his teeth drag over it. “I did date women and I can certainly appreciate a beautiful girl when I see one.” He reached across the table and tangled his fingers with Sam’s. “But unless I’m doing something spectacularly wrong here, it should be pretty clear that what I’m interested in now is…well, you.”

Sam’s blush turned several shades darker red. “Wow,” he said with a laugh. “That was pretty damn smooth.”

Dean grinned at him, eyes sparkling. “Yeah, I thought so. So does this mean that I get to see you again?”

Sam glanced down at their joined hands and felt a pleasant little warmth in his belly. “Yeah. Yeah, definitely.”

~~~ 

A short time later they left the restaurant and walked through the parking lot side by side towards Dean’s truck. Sam was so happy just being with Dean that his cheeks were starting to feel sore from smiling so much. He felt almost giddy with it. There was no use thinking he could play this cool like he usually did with a guy. There was no precedent for anything like this. He was smitten and there was no hiding it.

“Where’s your car at?”

“Huh?” Sam pulled his attention away from his mental happy dance and realized that Dean was asking him a question. “Oh, it was a rental. I had to give it back.”

Dean stopped in his tracks, momentarily confused. “How did you get here then?”

Sam pointed towards a tree on the far side of the parking lot. Chained to it was the bicycle he’d bought off of Craigslist from a KU student.

Dean looked at it and then back at Sam in mild disbelief. “You’re kidding me right?”

“What?”

“Okay, Lance Armstrong,” Dean laughed. “Grab your bike. We’ll throw in the bed of my truck and I’ll drive you both home.”

Home? No, no, no! Dean couldn’t see where he was living yet. There would be way too many questions that Sam wasn’t ready to answer. Maybe it was selfish, but he didn’t want this to end yet.

“It’s cool, really.” Sam said. “It’s a nice night. I feel like taking a ride.”

“You sure?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah. But um, I had a great time tonight. Sincerely. We should do this again soon.”

Dean smiled, taking a step toward him. He snaked one arm around Sam’s waist, pulling him close as he slid his other hand up to Sam’s cheek, tilting his face just so for a kiss. It was more tender than the first time. A slow burn rather than the flash of heat they’d shared before. Intense and intoxicating the way it spread through his body and settled into his heart.

The kiss ended and Sam leaned his forehead against Dean’s as he tried to catch his breath. “God.”

Dean licked his lips, a cocky smirk curling them up at the corners. “You can call me Dean.”

~~~

Over the next two weeks they went out a few more times which was as often as Dean’s schedule would allow. They hung out and talked, traded stories, and laughed more than Sam had in a long time. He felt great about himself and about Dean and how easily they seemed to slot back into step with each other.

He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t acknowledge that part of it had to do with the way Dean kissed him every time they parted at the end of the night. Rationally he knew that it couldn’t go on forever. Eventually their relationship, if that’s what it even was, would come to a crossroads and he’d have to figure out how he was going to handle it. He could tell Dean the truth and deal with the fallout or he could go on with this charade and somehow live with lying to his brother indefinitely. Neither seemed like a great option, so in the meantime he let himself be a little selfish and just enjoy.

And god damn was it ever enjoyable. He’d been kissed by his fair share of guys in his life and some of them had been pretty great at it, but he’d never understood what people meant when they talked about seeing stars from a simple liplock until Dean. More than once he’d gone home half hard and had to finish the job himself, imagining it was Dean’s hand instead of his own.

Then Dean called him up one day and asked him to come to a party that the guys from the firehouse were throwing at the local public pool. It was their yearly end of summer bash where all their friends and family could get together and have some fun. Ben was going to be there and it would be the first opportunity that Sam would have to meet him. Sam was nervous about it to say the least - he didn’t even have a pair of swim trunks with him - but he could sense how important it was to Dean that he go.

He was going to see his nephew and hangout with him and Dean for the day. Hopefully it would be the first day spent together of many.


	4. Chapter 4

The Lawrence Aquatic Center was packed when Sam showed up that Saturday. Little kids with inflatable water wings ran around everywhere underfoot and families sat around sunbathing on blankets in the grass surrounding the center’s two main pools. The school year was already underway but the warm weather of summer was holding on for one last hurrah and the locals seemed intent on making the most of the few days of it that they’d have left before they had to pack up their bathing suits for another year.

Sam looked around for a bit amongst the crowds until he caught sight of a sectioned off area and a bunch of guys wearing Lawrence Fire & Rescue t-shirts. That had to be Dean’s crew.

Dean spotted him as he approached and waved him over to a cluster of lounge chairs under an umbrella where he and a couple other people had made themselves at home. He was dressed down in a plain white t-shirt and red swim trunks but in Sam’s eyes he still looked hotter than any guy there.

“Hey!” Sam said, walking over to them.

“Hey, glad you could make it.” Dean stood and gave him a bro hug, leaving his arm around Sam’s shoulder as he introduced him to his friends. “Guys, this is Sam. Sam, this is Pam and that’s Benny.”

“Well, look at you!” Pam exclaimed, getting up from her lounge chair to shake Sam’s hand. “Where’ve you been hiding this one, Dean?” She was wearing a zebra print bikini that was successfully turning the heads of just about every man within fifty feet of her.

As soon as Pam’s hand made contact with his, Sam noticed her stiffen slightly and her smile faltered. Her eyes narrowed at him with searching gaze for the span of a moment before she released his hand. Sam didn’t have a chance to question it though because Benny was already tossing him a can of beer and Dean was moving to drag a lounge chair over so that he could join their little circle.

“There you go, Sam. A little libation to wet your whistle,” Benny drawled out. “It ain’t fancy like that crap Dean drinks but it will do the trick.”

“Thanks,” he said, catching the offered can. “Doesn’t sound like you’re from around here.”

Benny smiled at him approvingly. “No, sir. Carencro, Louisiana born and raised.”

“Benny washed up here after Hurricane Katrina,” Dean informed him.

“First it was Katrina. Then not a month later we got Hurricane Rita right on her tail. I figured – Well shit Lord, I can take a hint. Time to move on, you know? Then I got a call from my cousin Eli offering me a place to stay so I thought I’d give Kansas a try. That was eight years ago now.”

“Wow,” Sam said. “That’s-“

“Dad!”

Sam turned towards the voice and saw a dark-haired boy jogging over to them.

“No running by the pool!” Dean scolded him, but there was no heat behind it. “What’s up, buddy?”

So this was Ben. He must take after his mom, Sam thought to himself. He didn’t have any of the fair coloring that Dean had had at his age. But no – that was definitely Dean’s nose and his ears too. It was pretty amazing to see traces of his brother in this happy energetic boy.

The kid slung his arms over the back of Dean’s chair. “Can I go to Billy’s later? He’s got this awesome new Xbox game. We’re gonna crush it!”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean said. “Just be home for dinner.”

“Cool. See ya!”

Ben started to run off again but Dean grabbed his arm to stop him. “Hold on! Jeez. Who gave you sugar?”

Ben giggled and tried his best to look innocent but obviously Dean wasn’t buying it.

Dean shot a glare at Benny. “Seriously?”

Benny shrugged. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” He winked at Ben, making the kid giggle even more.

Dean let out a long-suffering sigh and directed his attention back to Ben. “Listen, I want to introduce you to someone so try to be a human being for two minutes. Okay?”

“Affirmative,” Ben said, in a pretty impressive robot voice. Yeah, he was definitely Dean’s kid.

“Sam, this little smartass is Ben. Ben, this is my friend Sam.”

“Hi, Sam,” Ben said. “How tall are you?”

Dean shook his head, looking to the heavens like he was praying for patience.

Sam laughed. “I’m six feet and four inches tall. How tall are you?”

“Four feet and eight inches, but I’m not finished yet,” Ben said, absently scratching the side of his nose.

“You going to be as tall as your dad you think?” Sam asked him.

“Yup. Pam says so and she’s never wrong.”

“Yeah right!” Dean scoffed. “Did she tell you to say that?”

“Pay no attention to him, Ben,” Pam said behind the cover of her sunglasses. “He’s a non-believer.”

Dean shot her a look. “Easy with the condescending tone, Dionne Warwick.“

“Dad,” Ben broke in, clearly used to their bickering, “Can I go swim, now?”

“What? Yeah, go ahead. You and Billy stay by the lifeguard where we can see you.”

“Okay,” Ben said, already walking away. “Bye, Sam!” he shouted over his shoulder, giving him a quick backward wave goodbye.

“Nice meeting you, Ben!” Sam replied, a grin spreading across his face. His nephew was a pretty great kid. He looked over at Dean and caught him staring his way. Dean was practically beaming with pride, clearly pleased at Sam’s reaction to his son. He reached over and patted the top of Sam’s thigh affectionately.

Sam blushed, feeling like he’d been given some kind of test and aced it.

 ~~~

They were all sitting around drinking beers and listening to Benny tell them a yarn about an old voodoo priestess who his uncle swore up and down had cursed his shrimp boat, when one of the crew guys called out, “Winchester! Lafitte! Get your asses over here. We’re playing volleyball.”

Dean looked at Sam. “I’d ask you if you want to play but I doubt you wanna get in the pool in those jeans. Mind if I do?”

“No, you go on ahead,” Sam assured him. “I’m good here.”

Pam leaned over and patted Sam’s hand. “I’ll take good care of him for you.”

Dean looked from one of them to the other. “Okay. But just remember whatever she tells you about me is probably horseshit. Especially that night in Vegas. The witnesses were unreliable at best.” He winked at Sam and headed off with Benny to join the guys who were setting up a volleyball net across the other end of the pool.

Sam watched him walk away, eyes following the loose swagger of his bowlegged gait and the round swell of his ass. Then Dean yanked his t-shirt over this head and Sam’s lustful thoughts were abruptly interrupted. A shiny patch of raised red skin formed a diagonal line across the middle of his back. There was also a thick two inch scar just under the bottom rib on his right side. Even more disturbing were the twin starbursts on the back of his shoulder that couldn’t be anything else but gunshot wounds.

“The big one was me,” Pam commented, following his line of sight.

Sam turned to look at her, somewhat embarrassed to be caught staring. “What do you mean?”

“He’s got a lot of scars,” she began, her eyes never leaving Dean. “Little scratches and nicks on his hands and wrists where his equipment slipped. And if you know where to look there’s a spot on his neck where the fire once got hot enough to make his own sweat start to boil. Not many people realize that that’s even possible but it is.” She took another sip of her beer before she continued. “But the big one is because of me. I had just broken up with this guy, Jesse, and I decided I wanted a change of scenery, you know? So I moved in with my great aunt Linda. She was getting on in years and almost blind. I thought I could look after her and I’d have a place to stay while I was licking my wounds. One night around three in the morning she woke up and decided that she was going to make fried chicken. Needless to say it didn’t go all that well.”

“What happened?” Sam asked her.

“I woke up to the sound of the fire alarm and the house was on fire. She was disoriented and screaming about her cat, saying we had to find it. She wouldn’t leave without it. I guess the neighbors had seen the smoke and called the fire department because before I knew it these men in heavy gear were busting down the door. One of them came in and scooped up Aunt Linda over his shoulder like she was a sack of flour, and another one grabbed me by the arm. He was pushing me out of the house after them when a big bookcase toppled over right on top of us.”

“And that was Dean,” Sam concluded.

An affectionate smile spread cross her face. “Yeah, it was. He fell on top of me and took the brunt of the impact. Damn thing was so heavy that it took three guys to lift it off of us. Some of the books were already on fire though. When they were pulling us out from under it the back of his coat rode up and his t-shirt caught fire.”

“That’s pretty incredible,” Sam said, trying not to think about what might have happened if Dean’s luck had been any worse that night.

“He’s an incredible guy. I was his first save and he hasn’t been able to get rid of me since. I owe him my life, Sam,” she said, turning to look him in the eye at last. “So you see how I might feel kinda protective over him?”

Sam nodded, reading her loud and clear. “Yeah, I get that. You want to know my intentions.”

Pam reached out and covered his hand with hers. “I don’t believe that you mean him any harm. I don’t see that in you. For what it’s worth, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him as happy as he’s been these past couple of weeks since he’s met you. But you are holding something back.” Sam started to respond but she continued, barreling over his protests. “I don’t need to know what it is. That’s your business. But if you love him you’ll have to bare your soul eventually and let the chips fall where they may.”

Sam looked down at their joined hands, shame burning in his throat. “What if I tell him and he pushes me away? I can’t…I don’t want to lose him.”

“That’s a risk you’re going to have to take. Dean deserves the truth. I think you know that.”

Sam nodded, knowing in his bones that she was right. Tonight. He was going to come clean to Dean tonight. Pam released his hand and sat back on her lounge chair. They watched the guys splash around playing volleyball for a while in companionable silence. Dean was laughing and talking trash right along with them without a care in the world.

“Hey, Pam?” he asked. “Your aunt? She made it out okay right?

“Aunt Linda lived another six months after the fire. Died peacefully in her sleep which is the best anyone could ever hope for I think.”

“And the cat?”

Pam laughed. “Tyson. That damned cat showed up on my doorstep a week later. Not even a singed whisker.”

Sam watched Dean jump up and spike the ball hard on the opposing team’s side, making as big a splash as possible. He was laughing full and loud as they cursed him colorfully but good naturedly. “Can I ask you about his other scars?” Sam asked her. “The gunshot wounds are from combat I’m guessing?”

Pam shook her head. “Those aren’t my stories to tell.” She stood up and stretched her arms above her head. “I’m going to go grab another beer. Want one?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Hey, sugar! You’re not leaving us are you?” Benny called out, walking towards them with Ben slung over his shoulder – kind of like a sack of flour – if flour could squirm and laugh hysterically.

Sam didn’t miss the way Pam’s eyes went soft at the sight of them although he couldn’t say if that look was for the child or for the man.

“Going for another round,” she said, gesturing towards the picnic area where the men had set out some food and coolers of drinks. “Maybe see a man about a burger. If you boys promise to play nice maybe I’ll bring you back some.”

Benny set the kid down on the ground and watched as he scrambled off towards the volleyball game where Dean and the other guys were still playing. As soon as those little ears were out of range, Benny turned the full force of his charm on her. “That what you want?” he asked Pam. “A nice guy? Cause I can be real nice given the right motivation.”

“What I want is the kind of man who doesn’t need me to tell him what I want. He just _knows_ ,” she tossed back easily.

Benny threw back his head and laughed, his blue eyes sparkling. “Come on girl, when are you gonna marry me?”

Pam gave him a sly smile. “Someday.” With that, she walked away towards the grill with her hips swaying seductively in a rhythm all her own.

Benny stared after her dumbstruck.

“Did she just-?” Sam asked.

“Shh!” Benny raised his hand, cutting him off. “I honestly don’t know but just let me have this moment.”

~~~

After the pool party was over, Dean invited Sam back to his house for a home cooked meal. Since Sam had been living off of take out and cold cereal he really couldn’t say no. Plus it meant spending more time together. Talking to Dean, telling him who he really was, it was going to be tough. Sam was nervous as hell thinking about it but he knew that it had to be done. Having that conversation in the privacy of Dean’s home turf was probably the best shot at it that he was going to get.

Dean’s house was a modest two bedroom with yellow aluminum siding and white shutters. There was a well-loved blue bicycle in the driveway and a basketball hoop hanging over the garage. Inside, Dean led him into the living room which boasted an overstuffed sofa and loveseat in chocolate brown suede, a big flat screen TV, and a massive fireplace with built-in bookcases that hosted a variety of titles ranging all the way from Shel Silverstein to Steinbeck. It was masculine but also homey and warm. A place filled with love and a wonderful energy that both man and boy shared alike. It made Sam’s heart happy to see the life that Dean had made for himself and his son.

“Want a beer?” Dean asked him.

“Yeah, sure.” Sam took a seat on the couch, sinking into the plush cushions.

“Cool.” Dean walked on through into the open kitchen and dug around in the fridge. “Why don’t you take a look through the movies choices On Demand and see if there’s anything you feel like watching?”

After a minor debate they settled on a courtroom drama that Sam hadn’t seen yet, with the stipulation that next time they’d watch _Backdraft_ which was a favorite of Dean’s despite a few “completely bullshit technical inaccuracies. Even a rookie would know better than to go into a fire like that without a mask!”

They sat next to each other on the couch, Sam leaning comfortably against Dean’s side, as the hard-nosed attorney with a heart of gold ripped the scumbag defendant a new one in front of the jury. Dean smelled like chlorine and summer. He was still wearing his swim trunks and his skin had turned golden from running around all day in the sunshine. Sam did his best to at least look like he was focusing on the movie but inside he was a tangled mess of nerves. He had to start this conversation somehow.

“So is that what you do?” Dean asked, interrupting Sam’s thoughts. He gesturing towards the screen with his beer. “Protecting the weak from the forces of evil?”

“You make me sound like I run around in a cape and tights.” Sam laughed in spite of himself. “No, nothing as cool as that. I do my homework and I put the evidence together as best I can. If I did my job well, the other guy will cave and agree to a settlement. Occasionally they call my bluff and we have to hash it out in court but that happens a lot more rarely than you’d think.”

“Huh,” Dean said, taking a sip of his drink. He gave Sam a sideways glance out of the corner of his eye, a half-smile playing hide and seek at the seam of his lips. “I’ll stick with my version if you don’t mind. I have to say I’m liking the idea of you in a pair of tights.”

“Really?” Sam felt a blush burning pink across his cheeks.

“What?” Dean set his beer down on the coffee table next to Sam’s and turned in his seat to face him. “Can I help it if you’ve got great legs?” He leaned in close, until his face was just an inch away. “What you do to me, Sam,” he said, his breath ghosting over Sam’s lips, “It’s been so long since I’ve felt anything like this.” He closed the distance between them and captured Sam’s mouth with his own, running his hand up the length of Sam’s thigh.

Sam moaned into the kiss, his hips jerking reflexively as Dean’s hand traveled up to the crease of his thigh and down again to rub his balls through his jeans. He felt his cock pressing against the confines of the denim and all his best intentions threatened to fly right out the window. There was a line here somewhere - he was sure of it. He had to stop. This was exactly the opposite of what he’d come over to do. Any minute now he was going to tell Dean they had to stop.

Dean deepened their kiss, spurred on by Sam’s unconscious response to his touch. He fumbled with the zipper of Sam’s jeans for a moment before he was able to get them open, reaching in to free his cock.

Sam bucked up into the grip of Dean’s hand as it closed around him. The rough calloused skin of Dean’s palm created the most delicious friction that it only took a few strokes before precome began to drip from Sam’s slit, slicking the way. Rationally he knew this was wrong. Capital W wrong. Dean didn’t know what he was really doing. A few innocent – okay mostly innocent- kisses were one thing but this was… _Oh holy fuck_ that felt good. How could wrong feel so good?

Dean kissed and nibbled his way along the line of Sam’s jaw and down to the sensitive lobe of his ear as he twisted his wrist and jerked Sam’s length. “Like that?”

Dean’s words whispered hotly against his skin skittered down Sam’s spine and lit him up inside like a pinball machine. How was he supposed to fight this when all of his senses were screaming for more? Dean was a force of nature and Sam was being swept right up in it.

“Ah, fuck!” Sam cried out when Dean’s thumb rubbed over the spot where the head of his cock met the shaft, a bundle of nerves that triggered a shiver of desperate need throughout his body. He grabbed Dean’s bicep, holding on for dear life as Dean increased his speed.

Sam fucked up into Dean’s fist mindlessly, his mouth hanging open in a perfect O. Before he knew what was happening a wave of pleasure broke over him and he came. He pressed his forehead into the top of Dean’s shoulder, his breath coming in short pants as Dean stroked him through it. Sam could feel his thighs shaking slightly from the shock of it. He hadn’t come that fast from a simple handjob since he was teenager.

When it was over, Dean sat back on the couch next to Sam and grabbed tissue from a box on the end table to wipe the come off of his hand. His chest heaved with each labored breath and his cock formed a hard ridge in his swim trunks. He looked absolutely debauched and he hadn’t even come yet.

Sam licked his lips, staring at Dean with a mind to devour him whole. Another line asking to be crossed. But one look at Dean’s face, eyes heavy-lidded and his perfect lips parted on an indrawn breath, and Sam knew that if he kept going down that road he wouldn’t be able to deny him anything. He had to slam on the brakes. Now.

“Sam,” Dean said, with a plea in his voice. He grabbed the front of Sam’s shirt and pulled him close, pausing to lightly rub the pad of his thumb over Sam’s bottom lip before leaning in with the intent to kiss him again.

Sam knew what he wanted. What he needed. For both of their sakes, Sam had to deny him. Summoning all the self-control he had left to his name, Sam put a hand on Dean’s chest to hold him back. “Wait. I know this isn’t very fair of me but I need to slow down a minute.”

Dean released him, blinking the fog of arousal from his eyes. “Um, yeah. Sure. That’s okay. We don’t need to - I mean you don’t have to…don’t worry about ‘fair’. That’s fine.” He straightened his clothes awkwardly, adjusting himself so that his hard-on was less noticeable. He sat back farther away on the couch, putting distance between them that to Sam felt like it was more than just physical.

Sam didn’t want Dean to feel like he was rejecting him. He had to say something, do something to diffuse the situation. “Listen, in case you couldn’t tell just now, I liked that. A whole lot. And I like you. Well, like isn’t really the word.” He huffed in annoyance at his own inability to express himself. A few short weeks ago he’d been a competent professional wordsmith, interpreting the letter of the law to meet his goals. Now when he needed them the right words seemed just out of reach. “Everything’s just really complicated for me right now. I feel like sex is just going to make it worse. So for the moment I just need-”

“It’s okay, Sam.” Dean cut him off with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I get it. Take all the time you need. No pressure, really.” He stood up and side-stepped around the other side of the couch towards the stairs. “Are you hungry? I’m hungry. How about I go get changed into some real clothes and then you can help me put dinner together? Ben should be home by the time it’s ready. We can all eat together.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and started up the stairs.

Sam was left on his own in front of the TV wondering how he’d managed to make a mess of things. He hadn’t even gotten to the hard part yet.

~~~

Once Dean had changed into a pair of worn jeans and a simple black t-shirt, he put Sam right to work in the kitchen chopping onions and carrots.   He seemed relaxed, smiling big and talking Sam through everything he was doing as he put together a simple meal of meatloaf and mashed potatoes. At first Sam was taken aback by the way Dean was acting, like he had completely wiped their little awkward exchange from his short term memory. But Dean had always been good at hiding his feelings when he wanted to. Sam had just never been on the other side of his brother’s closely guarded walls before. It set him back on his heels a bit. Maybe tonight wasn’t such a good time to throw Dean any more curveballs.

“Where’d you learn how to do all this?” Sam asked him, trying to play along with whatever script Dean seemed to following now.

Dean looked up at him from the bowl of ground beef he’d been folding breadcrumbs into and paused for a beat before answering. “Lisa,” he replied. “This was one of the first things that Lisa ever taught me how to make when we moved in together.”

“Oh.” Sam didn’t really know how to respond to that. “She was a good cook?”

“Yeah.” Dean expression turned wistful. “I musta heard about her cooking a half a dozen times from my buddy Brad before I even met her. Every time we got meatloaf in our MRE’s he’d wax poetic about his little sister’s recipe until I could almost taste it. I have to say it lived up to the hype.”

Sam could sense Dean’s walls starting to come down with the obvious affection that seeped into his voice and he latched right onto it. “You and Brad were really close, huh?”

Dean smiled, a real one this time, and he resumed mixing the ingredients. “Giant pain in my ass is what he was. Big booming voice like everything he had to say needed to be broadcast to everyone in a ten mile radius. Laughed at his own jokes all the time even if he screwed up the punchline. He’d charge right in guns blazing when the smart ticket was to hold our ground and wait. I swear to God I don’t know how he ever made it through to Recon. But he did, just like he always said he would. Made it on sheer nerve and a prayer. That sorry son of a bitch was practically glued to my side through some of the worst-“ Dean stopped short and his smile faded into nothing, his gaze coming to rest on the table top as he seemed to get lost inside his own head for a moment.

Sam stopped chopping and set down his knife. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

Dean frowned, then gave a slight nod as if he had come to some kind of decision. “No, it’s okay. I want to. Besides, Pam thinks it’s good for me.” He rolled his eyes to show just what he thought of that.  

Sam was more than willing to be a sounding board if Dean was willing to let him. He knew that Dean didn’t talk about his past in great detail with just anyone and offering that part of himself to Sam was a gesture of trust. One which Sam knew full well he had no right to but at the same time couldn’t refuse. For his own part, he was dying to know what had really happened in Baghdad after all this time.

Clearing his throat, Sam helped Dean get the ball rolling. “Were you with him when…?”

“Yeah, I was with him.” Dean nodded. “I was right there when it happened. Our platoon was on patrol circling around the city heading north towards Baqubah when all hell broke loose.”

_~2003~_

_“Oh you gonna take me home tonight. Oh down beside that red firelight. Oh you gonna let it all hang out. Fat bottomed girls you make the rockin world go round!”_

_Dean winced a little at his RTO’s spectacularly off-key singing but he kept his eyes fixed on the road in front of their Humvee, scanning every doorway of the narrow street for possible threats. “Brad, for the love of God please shut up. You’re going to scare away the enemy before I get a chance to shoot him.”_

_Brad pouted like a little kid but he continued tapping the steering wheel to the beat of the music inside his head. “You love my singing and you know it.”_

_“Can you at least sing something from this decade?” Nunez whined from his position standing at the turret gun._

_Dean shot a sideways glare toward Brad. “Don’t you dare.”_

_Brad grinned devilishly and started belting_. “ _Why’d you have to go and make things so complicated?  
I see the way you're acting like you're somebody else. Gets me frustrated_.”

_Cole groaned dramatically and punched the back of Brad’s seat. “Come on! You’ve got to be kidding me with that shit. Hey Sarge, if I stab him can I drive?”_

_Dean grit his teeth. As elite a fighting force as his squad was sometimes they were little better than a bunch of five year olds. “Everybody shut your pie holes before I make you get out and walk all the way to Saddam City.”_

_Nunez laughed. “Aw, don’t be like that, Deano.”_

_Suddenly a hail of shots rang out and Nunez slumped back against the roof of the Humvee. Brad slammed on the brakes._

_“Sonofabitch!” Dean shouted. “Cole, grab his legs! Pull him in!” The road ahead of them came to a T-intersection in front of an old factory which was supposed to be abandoned. They were surrounded on all sides by buildings and anyone of them could be holding the enemy. “Where the fuck did that come from?”_

_They took another round of shots which embedded themselves in the thin armor of their vehicle. Dean saw muzzle flashes from behind the broken bits of the factory window and realized how fucked they were. There were three more Humvee squads right behind them so they couldn’t back up as fast as they were going to need to. The only way out was forward._

_He grabbed the radio handset and clicked it to life. “All Hitman Two Victors this is Two One Actual. Contact with multiple snipers at our twelve. We’re in a kill zone here. No room for egress so we assaulting through to the left. We need suppressing fire now!”_

_Cole dragged Nunez down into the Humvee. He fell limply against the seat behind Dean, a large chunk of his head blown clean off. “Oh shit! Oh shit!” Cole yelled, holding his friend’s face. “He’s been hit!”_

_Dean reached back and grabbed Cole roughly by the front of his flak jacket. “He’s dead, Corporal! Now get your ass up on that M-19!” He turned back to his rifle and opened fire on the factory. What the fuck was going on? Insurgents weren’t supposed to be anywhere near this area._

_Cole stood up and manned Nunez’s gun looking pale but steady._

_They rolled toward the enemy guns blazing. The radio squawked with adrenaline-fueled shouts from the other vehicles. Their captain was trying to contact Bravo Company’s commander._

_“Looks like another intelligence fail,” Brad shouted over the deafening volley of ammunition fire. “Situation: normal – all fucked up.”_

_Dean silently agreed with him as he took aim and fired. A red mist flew out from one of the open windows of the building. Someone must have forgotten to tell that sneaky little bastard and his friends that all the other rats had already jumped ship and left this part of town._

_An answering shot came right through the window shield and caught Brad in the throat. Blood spurted out of his mouth and he collapsed forward against the steering wheel. The Humvee roared forward with his boot slammed down on the gas. They were heading on a collision course right for the front doors of the factory._

_“Brad!” Dean screamed, shaking him and trying to dislodge his foot. They were seconds away from impact and Brad wasn’t budging. “Cole! Get down! Get down!”_

_With a sickening crunch of metal and splintering wood they crashed through the front doors and nicked a concrete support column. Dean was thrown through the shattered windshield. He hit the floor in a loose sprawl of limbs and everything went black._

_~~~_

_Dean woke up to the sound of helicopters overhead. Cobras, his mind supplied. Friendlies. Thank God. Bravo’s commander must have called them in._

_His head was pounding something awful. He was disoriented and scraped up pretty good with bits of glass and concrete in his skin but miraculously it didn’t feel like he’d broken anything other than maybe a few ribs. His Kevlar had absorbed a lot of the blunt force trauma. Holding his side, he got to his feet and tried to find his men._

_The Humvee was laying upside down about twenty feet away. The momentum of the vehicle when it hit the column must have sent it rolling onto it’s back. It didn’t look good._

_“Brad? Cole?” Dean ripped off his helmet and lumbered over to wreck doing his best to push past the pain in his chest. He leaned down and saw Brad crumpled against the roof of the cab which was now the floor. He must have fallen out of his seat when it turned over. Looking past him into the back seat, Dean could see the bloody heap that was once Cole. He hadn’t ducked down quick enough._

_Swallowing back his bile, Dean focused on Brad and checked for a pulse. He couldn’t feel one. “Come on, man. Don’t give up on me,” he begged. He had no idea where the rest of his platoon was or how long he’d been out but he knew that he needed to get out of there and he wasn’t about to leave his buddy behind no matter what._

_His vest was starting to choke him so he yanked it off, awakening a whole new level of pain in his ribs. It hurt like a bitch but once the weight of it was off of him he felt like he could move again. Grabbing a tight hold on Brad’s jacket, he pulled as hard as he could. Brad was dead weight in his arms and every tug made his side ache but after a few desperate minutes of pulling and maneuvering him, Dean was able to drag Brad out the window of the Humvee._

_Dean fell back on his ass, breathing hard and holding his ribs. “Jesus fucking Christ. You need to lose some weight, Big Dog.” Overhead the sound of helicopters was getting louder. Too loud._

_“Brad, we gotta go. I don’t think those Cobras know we’re in here.” Dean got up and hooked his arms under Brad’s, trying to lift him. If he could get the big guy on his shoulders he might be able to get him out to the street where the pilot would be able to see that they were Americans._

_There were some muffled shouts from the floor above them and then there was a stampede of boots clunking down the stairwell. Insurgents trying to make a break for it before the Cobras rained hellfire down on them._

_Dean’s M4 was nowhere to be found. All he had was his sidearm. He grabbed for it just as a group of men carrying rifles came running out the stairwell looking for the nearest exit. Dean and Brad were right in their path._

_For a split second Dean thought that they were going to run right past him, but then the nearest man raised his rifle._

_Dean pulled the trigger but his moment of hesitation was a moment too long. BAM! BAM! His shoulder exploded in a burst of searing pain like a red hot branding iron had been swung at him with the force of a baseball bat. It knocked him backwards right off his feet and slammed him down onto the concrete floor. He passed out with the sound of the gunfire still ringing in his ears._

_~~~_

Sam stood in shock while Dean moved around the kitchen making dinner while he told his story so matter-of-factly it was if he was describing a scene out of a movie. It was unnerving as hell to watch. His brother was clearly broken inside in more ways than he’d been aware of.

“So what happened then?” Sam asked him. “How did you get out before the helicopters attacked?”

Dean reached up and pulled some plates out of the cabinet, his back to Sam. “I didn’t.”

“What?”

Digging a serving spoon out of a drawer, Dean smiled ruefully. “Bravo’s commander sent in the wrong coordinates. Asshole never should have called in an air strike to begin with so close to the rest of the platoon but consensus was that between the crash and the goddamn insurgents’ nest we had to be dead anyway. So priority went to smoking out the enemy. Lucky for me, our CO actually fucked up his fuck up. The Cobras took out one of the buildings across the street instead.”

Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. That had to be why Dean was listed MIA. They’d written him off as one of the presumed dead so that they could cover their asses and justify pushing forward with their attack. Sam wished he could meet the officers responsible so he could punch their lights out.

Dean set the last finished dish out on the kitchen island and wiped his hands on his jeans. “Pretty crazy right?” he said with a sigh. “When the CASEVAC showed up the next day to collect what was left of us and they sure got a hell of a surprise when they found me still breathing. Three broken ribs, a broken collarbone, and two gunshot wounds but still breathing.”

Sam couldn’t take it anymore. Dean might be able to talk about it dispassionately but it was tearing him up inside just listening to it. On impulse, he circled around the island to where Dean was standing and caught him up in a fierce hug.

Dean went stiff with surprise at first but Sam just continued to grip him tight until Dean relaxed into it and brought his arms around Sam’s waist to hug him back. “I’m okay, Sam.”

Countless times in their lives Dean had told him that when he was obviously anything but okay. It was a habit of his that Sam knew too well . “Are you?”

Dean didn’t answer right away. When he did his voice was quiet and soft. “Not really.”

They hugged for a long time just taking comfort in the contact with no other agenda. Heartbeat to heartbeat. Inhale to exhale. It was something of a revelation for Sam to be close to Dean like that. Like they had once been so effortlessly as children. Intimacy on a level that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with love.   It was a missing piece that he’d been scared they would never find again.

Dean might never want to touch him again once he knew the truth. It would kill Sam to have to lose that but he would weather it as long as his brother didn’t stop loving him and turn him away completely. He’d lost faith that that could even be possible somewhere along the line – faith in the strength of their bond to survive the weight of their past, the long years of separation, and the changes that life had carved out of each of them. Now even with the considerable added burden of his own selfish choices, Sam felt his faith in that bond being restored. They were brothers first and they would be brothers always. Dean would see that. He had to.

The sound of the front door opening is what finally brought them back down to earth. They broke apart and Sam noticed how Dean averting his eyes, looking uncomfortably vulnerable.

“I’m home!” Ben called out. The thud of sneakers being shucked off followed a second later.

“Dinner’s just about ready,” Dean responded. He looked at Sam with just a hint of embarrassment coloring his face. “Guess we should pop the food in the oven for a few minutes to heat it up. Probably went cold on us by now, huh?”

Sam smiled at him and shrugged. “It’s okay. We’ll fix it.”


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, Dean was looking forward to being able to spend a rare Sunday off with Ben. Between his long hours on the job and the time he’d been spending with Sam he was feeling a little guilty that he and his son hadn’t hung out as just the two of them in a while.

Dean walked into Ben’s bedroom, navigating the obstacle course of little boy detritus that littered the floor. “Morning, shortstuff!” he said ruffling Ben’s hair.

Ben burrowed his face further into his pillow. “Dad!” he whined. “Go away. M’sleepin.”

Undeterred, Dean pounced on him and started tickling. “Ben!” he whined, copying his son’s petulant wail to perfection. “It’s time to get up.”

“You suck!” Ben declared through uncontrollable fits of laughter as he squirmed to get away from the onslaught. “It’s Sunday. There is no ‘time to get up’ on Sundays.”

Dean took mercy on him and let him go. “On principle I really like the sound of that rule. However, I’m not going to let you sleep the day away. I want you up and dressed.” He buried his nose in Ben’s hair, took a sniff and made an exaggerated face of disgust. “Ugh, and showered please. People are going to think I found you in a dumpster. Can’t take you anywhere like that.”

Ben sat up in bed and stuck his tongue out at Dean in response to his teasing.   Then his small features screwed up in confusion. “Wait. Are we going somewhere?”

“Yeah, why not? I have the day off so I thought we’d go for a hike in Prairie Park. It’ll do you some good to get outside and away from the video games for a while.”

Ben raised an eyebrow at him and folded his arms over his narrow chest. “You forgot didn’t you?” It was scary sometimes how much he looked like Lisa when he did that.

“What? No I didn’t,” Dean retorted. “Okay, I did. What did I forget?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “You forgot that I’m supposed to go to Kevin and Kenny’s birthday party today. We’re spending the day at Fun Zone.”

Right. The twins in Ben’s class with the weird mom who wrote their names on _everything_ with a Sharpie and flirted with him whenever her milktoast husband wasn’t around. No thanks.

“Fun Zone?” he repeated with a grimace. That place was Dean’s version of hell. Little kids yelling and running around all hopped up on ice cream cake and the thick plastic smell of the bouncy house. Plus their pizza that tasted like ass. “Okay,” he sighed, throwing up his hands in surrender. “I get it. You’re too cool now to hang out with your old man. That’s fine. I’ll remember this eight years from now when you want to borrow the car.”

Ben smiled at him fondly and shook his head in exasperation. “You’re so lame.”

“I know. Worst dad ever.” Dean gave him a wink and left his son alone to get ready for this party.

He wandered downstairs into the livingroom and flopped down on the couch. There went his plan for the day. So now what?

He thought about calling Sam. During dinner last night with him and Ben, Sam had seemed a little preoccupied, happy enough but kinda like his mind was on something else. Ben had asked him a million questions about being a lawyer and he’d been great about it. They seemed to get along just fine, even had a little geek out session together over Ben’s science project about the solar system, so Dean didn’t think that could be the issue. Sam had gone home shortly after and had awkwardly backed out of arm’s reach when Dean had walked him out and made a move to kiss him goodnight. Something was off.

They were supposed to get together again tonight. Dean wasn’t sure what was going on between them with the way Sam had shied away from touching him after Dean had jerked him off. Except for that hug. Sam had hugged him and just held on like he was offering himself as a balm for all the raw damaged parts of Dean that would probably never heal. It made Dean want him to just keep holding on and never let go. That feeling was something that he didn’t even know how to classify but it scared the crap out of him. He hadn’t felt this way about anyone since Lisa.

He needed to think this whole thing with Sam through before he saw him again. He was in way over his head so decided to call the first person he always went to when he needed someone to kick him in the ass.

“Hey, Pam. You busy today?”

~~~

“I hate you so much.” Pam was bent over at the waist with her hands on her knees trying to catch her breath. “I hate the woods. I hate hiking. And right now I especially hate you.”

Dean took a drink from his water bottle and then offered it to her. “You love me.”

Pam swiped the bottle out of his hand and shot him a glare that promised murder.

“Come on, check out that view.” Dean spread his arms out wide in front of him. He breathed in deep, filling his lungs with the fresh clean air. “You can’t tell me that spending a little sweat to get here wasn’t worth it.”

The cliff where they were standing over looked a former limestone quarry which had been transformed into a beautiful lake. Sunlight glittered across deep blue water that lapped softly against the steep rock walls that surrounded it. It was a tranquil spot that was nestled right in the heart of the forest as if it dropped down there from Heaven.

Dean loved coming here. He didn’t often get the chance to take this trail because even though Ben was a naturally athletic kid he wasn’t quite ready to handle a ten mile hike just yet. He’d only been able to goad Pam into going with him by tossing out a double dog dare that she wouldn’t be able to hack it. He knew that she was too stubborn to back down from a direct challenge. It was one of the things they had in common.

With a tired sigh, Pam straightened up and took in the natural beauty before them.   “Not bad,” she admitted. She settled down on a large rock to rest her legs and gulp down some of Dean’s water. “Is there any reason why you chose to drag me out here instead of your big strapping man-toy? He looks like he has the brawn to handle one of your death marches through the great outdoors.”

Sometimes even Dean had to admit that Pam’s intuition had a way of cutting right down to the heart of things. “I don’t know what’s going on with him,” he confessed. He took a seat on the rock next to her, propping his elbows on his knees. “Everything has been going great. Better than great. Fucking awesome.”

Dean tallied up everything he’d grown to appreciate about Sam and any way he looked at it the results were practically perfect. He was smart. Probably way too smart for him, but Sam was too nice to ever make him feel that way. They had fun together and Dean felt completely at ease around him. He’d clicked with Sam faster than most anyone he’d met. Sam even seemed to take a shine to Ben and they were getting along great. Dean felt himself falling for the guy and he was falling hard.

“But?” Pam prompted.

“But, last night things got a little frisky and he slammed on the brakes. I’m not going to lie, it sucked. But you know, I handled it.” Dean shrugged. “Then when I went to kiss him goodnight he backed away from me.”

Pam hummed thoughtfully. “Did he say anything to you?”

“Not really. Just that he felt like things were complicated.” Dean toed at a pebble in the dirt with the tip of his hiking boot. “I guess I can see where he could be coming from with that,” he continued, thinking out loud. “He’s got a law practice back in San Francisco which I imagine he’s gonna have to get back to at some point.”

“Could be,” Pam conceded. “And I suppose you haven’t talked about what’s going to happen when he leaves or how you feel about him, have you?”

Dean looked away, staring off at the lake. She made it sound like it was so easy to do.

Pam sighed in exasperation. “The two of you aren’t going to get very far if neither of you can find the stones to actually talk to each other.”

“We talk,” Dean said indignantly. “I told him about Baghdad.”

“You did?” Pam stared at him in surprise. “That’s pretty big.”

Dean shrugged. “I guess. I don’t know. It felt right.”

“And the rest?” Pam put a comforting hand on his arm. “Have you told him anything about that?”

Dean knew what she meant. Her sixth sense had picked up on it right away when they’d become friends which was the only reason why Dean had told her. Over time he had filled her in on all the ugly details. She was the only one in his life still alive who knew about his family, the beatings, and how his life had ended up spiraling out of control.  

“No. I haven’t worked up to that yet,” he replied. “I figure I filled my weekly quota for traumatic life-altering personal stories already.”

“Well, if you want my advice I think you at least need to be really clear about what you want.” Pam leaned back on the rock, propping herself up on her arms. “I read him a little,” she confessed.

What the fuck? Outrage had Dean whipped his head around to glare at her. “What do you mean? Who said you could do that?”

“It was an accident!” she shot back, defensively. “It wasn’t even a clear reading. Just hazy impressions. I wasn’t expecting it at all so I wasn’t focused. I shook his hand and it just hit me. The guy’s like a friggin beacon! I can’t imagine what would happen if he was actually trying to let me in.” She blew out a breath to calm herself. “It reminded me a lot of you actually. Both of you radiate this intense energy. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Dean gnawed the inside of his cheek, fighting the urge to ask what she’d seen in him. Maybe he shouldn’t know. Sam should be the one to decide what he was going to share about himself, shouldn’t he?

They were both silent for a moment, the questions that Dean wanted to ask laying heavy in the air. Finally Pam took responsibility on herself and offered what she knew. “For what it’s worth,” she began, “I think he’s a good guy. He cares about you and he has a good heart. But he’s cloudy. Confused. Ashamed. More than anything though I would call it fear. He’s got things about himself that thinks are going to end up pushing you away. I don’t know what they are. Like I said I didn’t get a good reading. But that much fear says to me that you’re much more important to him than you might think you are.”

Dean took it in, weighing the information in his mind. It raised more questions than it answered but Sam’s behavior started to make a little more sense. He couldn’t imagine what was so terrible that Sam thought he wouldn’t be able to understand. Dean sure as hell was no saint and he’d never pretended to be.

“So what are you going to do about it?” Pam asked him.

Dean stood, taking one last look at the lake. Sam was important to him, he could admit that to himself. Maybe it was time he admit that to Sam too. “I’m going to talk to him. Figure something out.” He turned and offered her a hand, pulling her up to her feet. “Come on, let’s head back.”

Pam groaned and followed him down the path into the shady cover of the trees. “That’s downhill, right? Downhill is good.”

~~~

Sam walked up the path to Dean’s front door like he was walking towards this own death. He very well might be. His brother was ex-marine after all. He could probably kill him with his pinky finger if he wanted to. Very shortly he might want to do just that.

It was late evening and the lights in Dean’s windows glowed warmly against the dark. Sam hesitated. He felt guilty for what he’d done and for what he was about to do, like an interloper disturbing his brother’s cozy little world. He’d been kidding himself thinking there was ever going to be a right time or a better moment to say what he had to say. This was going to be bad no matter what. Dean had every right to kick is ass and send him packing. He just hoped that his gut feeling was right and that Dean loved him enough to forgive him. Holding on to that thought gave him the courage to ring the doorbell.

Seconds later, the door swung open and Dean’s smiling face was there to greet him. “Heya, Sam.”

“We need to talk,” Sam blurted out. He was so revved up in anticipation that he couldn’t stop himself.

Dean’s casual demeanor changed immediately, replaced by genuine concern. “Okay, sure. Come on in.”

Sam followed him inside, looking around for any signs of Ben. This was not a conversation he wanted to have in front of his nephew. “Where’s Ben?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

Dean led him into the kitchen and leaned against the center island. “He’s upstairs in his room, probably crashed out asleep with the TV on. He had a birthday party today so he’s pretty tuckered out. He was wound up like a top when I came to pick him up.”

“Good. I mean, I’m glad he enjoyed himself. ”

Dean sat down at one of the kitchen stools and crossed his arms in front of him. “So? What’s so all-fire important for us to talk about all of a sudden?”

Sam took a deep breath to steady himself. This was it. The next words out of his mouth would change their lives forever.

“I’m your brother.”

“What?” Dean looked at him like he was insane. Like it was a joke. “What the hell are you talking about? No you’re not,” he snorted. “How do you know if I even have a brother?”

“I know because I’m him. My name isn’t Sam Harvelle. It’s Sam Singer. Well, it’s Singer now but it used to be Winchester.”

Dean scowled. He rose up off the stool and got right in Sam’s face, his whole body tense with rage. “Cut it out. You think this is funny or something?” There was a warning in his tone that threatened violence.

“I’m not joking,” Sam insisted. “I’m your brother.”

“Stop saying that!” Dean shouted. He wheeled away from Sam, dragged his hands through his short hair as he tried to compose himself.

Sam empathized with him, but he couldn’t stop now. He had to get it out before he lost his nerve, like ripping off a bandaid. “Dad’s lawyer tracked me down and told me that he passed away and that you were alive. I didn’t know, I swear. This whole time…I thought that you were dead.”

Dean turned and stared at him in shock as he tried to process it all.

Sam rushed on, desperate to explain himself. “I tried looking for you a long time ago but the last thing I could find on you was when you went MIA in Iraq. After that there was nothing so I thought…I thought I’d lost you forever. But then all of a sudden I get this call and it’s like you came back from the dead so I dropped everything to come find you.”

Dean’s eyes poured over every inch of Sam’s face. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. “S-Sammy?”

Sam had been waiting eighteen years to hear his old nickname come out of his brother’s mouth again. A wave of emotion passed over him so fierce that it made his head swim. “Yeah, Dean. It’s me.”

Dean’s eyes went wide and he paled as the full weight of it finally sunk in. “I-…you-….oh god…oh god what have I done?” He crumpled to his knees on the kitchen floor, hugging his arms over his head. “You’re my brother. My little brother. You’re my Sammy and I-…oh god.”

Sam rushed forward and put his arm around Dean’s shoulder’s trying to comfort him. “Dean-“

“Don’t touch me!” Dean shouted, pushing him off. “Don’t you fucking touch me.” He got to his feet quickly and backed away like Sam was diseased.

Sam recoiled, self-disgust rising sour in his throat. “I’m sorry,” Sam pleaded with him. “I’m so sorry. I never mean for things to happen like this. Please, believe me.”

The expression on Dean’s face turned to stone. Implacable. “I’m going up to check on my kid,” he bit out. “I need you to be gone by the time I get back.” He brushed past Sam and left the room without another word.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut on the tears that were threatening to fall. He heard Dean’s footsteps quicken as he practically raced up the stairs to get away from him. Sam leaned heavily on Dean’s abandoned stool. He felt like his chest was caving in.  

 

 

~~~

Four hours after Sam had come clean and Dean kicked him out, Dean found himself in the one place he’d been avoiding like the plague for the last three years.   His father’s house.

Sam had never told him where he was staying and never offered to have him over. They’d always either gone out somewhere or stayed in at Dean’s. In retrospect, Dean figured he probably should had sensed a red flag there. He’d just assumed that Sam was staying in a motel somewhere or some little short-term apartment that he didn’t want to spend much time in. Now that he knew the truth, he was able to put two and two together and he knew that there was no other place that Sam could be.

Dean had been running everything that Sam had told him over and over in his head on a nonstop loop. Second guessing every conversation and every nuance of the time they’d spent together for all the clues he should have seen coming. Anger, betrayal, revulsion, and shame waged war inside of him against the part of his heart that had always belonged to his brother. Dean didn’t know how to begin to sort one thought from the next.

Sleep was out of the question. Since this was all Sam’s fault anyway, Dean didn’t have any qualms about showing up at the house in the middle of the night to get some more answers out of him.

Before he’d left his house, Dean called Benny to come watch his son.

_“Sorry to call so late. I didn’t wake up, you did I?”_

_“Naw, man.” Benny replied. “You know me. I’m a night owl. What’s going on?”_

_“Listen there’s something I’ve got to do. I need you to do me a favor and watch Ben while I’m gone. I’m not sure how long it’s going to take. Just hangout in my livingroom and watch TV or something in case he wakes up.”_

_There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line before Benny responded. “No problem. I’ll be right over.”_

_“Thanks,” Dean said with relief. “I’ll leave the key for you under the doormat. I gotta go. I owe you bigtime.”_

_“No worries, brother. Just remember –you wanna burn the bones twice. Nice and hot until they’re down to ash. Once isn’t gonna cut it what with those crafty CSI fuckers.”_

_Benny hung up before Dean could figure out if he was joking or not._

Now that Dean was actually standing in front of his childhood home, forcing himself to face the ghosts of his past, he found himself wanting to balk before he even reached the front door. As much as he wanted to confront Sam, he wasn’t sure he was ready to go in just yet.

He stood in the driveway, trailing his fingertips along the hood of the Impala lightly like it was a fine instrument. He’d always loved this car. Loved to stick his hand out the window as they drove and feel the currents of wind play over his knuckles. Out of everything that the old man had left behind the only thing that Dean had thought twice about keeping had been her. She looked so lonely sitting motionless in the driveway like she was still in mourning.

“You wanna come in?”

Sam stood in the light of the open doorway, watching him expectantly.

But he wasn’t just Sam Harvelle anymore, Dean reminded himself. He was also _Sammy_. A hell of a lot bigger and broader than he used to be, but underneath the exterior it was still his little brother who’d once been his whole reason for living. He couldn’t imagine how he hadn’t realized it before now that the truth was literally staring him right in the face.

Dean didn’t know what to think now or how to feel about either one of them. Both his brother and the man Dean undeniably cared about. Both of which had been lying to him for weeks..

“Dean?” Sam looked nervous at Dean’s hesitation like he expected him to turn around and leave again.

Dean indicated to Sam to lead the way with a short jerk of his head before following after him, keeping his face carefully expressionless. Inside he was a messy bundle of emotions that even he couldn’t really put a name to but he wasn’t ready to let any of it show.

He walked into the house and froze in the entryway, completely unprepared for how much it would affect him. It was like walking into a dream, or a flashback maybe, of how it had been when Mom was alive. Everything was clean and bright like all the old lingering darkness of their childhood had been chased away and new life had been breathed back into the house.

“So this is where you’ve been living all this time?” Dean asked, looking anywhere but at Sam.

“Yeah, I have,” Sam admitted, shutting the door behind them and leading Dean into the livingroom. “How did you know to find me here?”

“I took a guess.” Dean said flatly. “Been doing some work around here haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” Sam replied. “Well, I couldn’t just leave it like it was. I wanted-“

“What the fuck, Sam?.” Dean blurted out. He couldn’t be calm about this. He couldn’t stand there making small talk when he raging inside. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

Sam stared at him in shock for a moment, his mouth moving without producing sound. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean for things to get so far out of control. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Why didn’t you stop me?” Dean demanded. “Why’d you let me…” He couldn’t say it out loud. Kiss him. Touch him. Fall in love with him.

Sam sat down on the couch, wringing his hands together. His face burned with guilt and shame, unable to look Dean in the eye. “I didn’t recognize you at first. I thought you were just some hot guy at the bar. Then you told me your name and I…I don’t know. Maybe you’ll think I’m sick or something for saying this but nothing changed for me. I wasn’t any less attracted to you. Then you kissed me and it just felt…right.” Sam looked up at him, imploringly. “But it wasn’t. I get that now. I took advantage of you and then I just kept letting it happen because I was afraid if you knew the truth you wouldn’t want me like that anymore and everything would stop. Selfish doesn’t even begin to...Look, I know there’s nothing I can say or do now to take it back or make it okay. I just hope you can find a way to forgive me.”

Dean slumped down in the chair opposite him before his knees gave out entirely. He felt sick to his stomach. Violated and betrayed. He remembered every moment that Sam was talking about with sparkling clarity and how much he’d enjoyed them too. How hard he’d gotten lying in his bed at night thinking about Sam and everything he wanted to do to him. He’d been making himself come with the sound of those desperate little noises that Sam made ringing in his ears. This whole time he’d been fantasizing about his own brother. How had he not realized that?

“I don’t understand,” he said, feeling lost. “I don’t understand this at all. You lied to me, Sammy. Way before that moment in the car or anything else. You lied and said your name was Harvelle. Was that just part of the plan to get you what you wanted?”

“No!” Sam paled. “I wasn’t out to trick you, Dean. I swear.”

"Then why?” Dean shouted, lurching forward in his chair. “Why didn’t you just tell me the truth from the beginning?”

“I was afraid you’d hate me!” Sam shouted back, eyes going wide in surprise by the ferocity of his own outburst.

“What?” Dean froze, staring at him in confusion. He felt like this trainwreck ride he was on jumped to a whole new track and he couldn’t get his bearings.

“You think I don’t know what you did for me when we were kids?” Sam asked him. “I’ve lived with that my whole goddamn life! But I didn’t even know the half of it until I read Dad’s journal.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Dad didn’t have a journal.” Dean nearly spat the word, like it was a bad taste in his mouth. The man he remembered never would have had the patience or the inclination to do something like that.

“Yes, he did,” Sam insisted. “Most of it doesn’t make any sense, just drunken ramblings. But there were some lucid parts in there too. Mostly from when I was a baby, before it got…bad.”

Bad. That was one way of putting it. Abusive. That was a bit more accurate but still fell short of the mark. What it had been was pure Hell.

“Yeah well, if you think I give a rat’s ass about that son of a bitch and his _internal musings_ , then you’ve seriously lost your mind,” Dean shot back with a sneer. “I only wish he’d had the balls to go the full Hemmingway and just shot himself a long time ago.”

“There’s a lot in there about Mom,” Sam said, his voice going soft. “What it was like when they were young and happy.”

Dean flinched at the mention of their mother. He stood up and moved to the picture window, putting his back towards Sam as he stared out into the night. His memories of the time before her death were few but he held them close like precious gems. The smell of her hair. The familiar melody of her laugh. The warmth of her love shining from her eyes as she sang him to sleep at night. He couldn’t connect those images with the John he’d known. Every memory of his father from that time before was disfigured by the broken man he had become.

Sam pressed on. “Most of what he wrote was about you and me. You, really. He was sorry about a lot of things.”

Dean rounded on him, anger flaring up anew. “I’m not interested in him being sorry! You better get to the point Sam or else I’m outta here.”

“The point is - I didn’t want you to know who I was because I thought that maybe if you got to know me first as I am now you wouldn’t resent me.”

Sam’s confession cut through the red haze of his rage, leaving him drained and reeling all over again. “Resent you? What the hell are you talking about? ”

“ _Dean still hardly talks,”_ Sam quoted _. “Every morning when I wake up, Dean is inside the crib, arms wrapped around the baby. Like he’s trying to protect him from whatever is out there in the night_.” That’s from an entry about a month after Mom died. Even then you were putting me first. You used to say it all the time, “it’s my job to take care of you”. No one is supposed to be saddled with a job like that at four years old! How could you not resent me?”

“How could you say that? Sammy, if it weren’t for you…” Dean caught himself mid-sentence as the enormity of what Sam was saying hit him full force, dragging up all the old insecurities and self-loathing. Sam couldn’t have been more wrong.

Maybe if Dean hadn’t made him feel that way he wouldn’t have felt like he had to lie and Dean never would have kissed him. Then none of this would have happened. He needed to fix this. He needed to let his brother know just how wrong he was.

“After Mom…” Dean began. He rubbed his hand over his mouth as he tried to come up with the right words. He never had the right words. “Dad was practically catatonic when he wasn’t three sheets to the wind.” He shrugged his shoulders lamely, remembering how overwhelmed he’d felt in the face of it all. “You were so little. And God - you cried all the damn time. I couldn’t just let you cry, could I? You needed me.” Dean rung his hands together, rubbing at the center of his palm with his opposite thumb like a worrystone. That was really only half of the story.

“Truth is it wasn’t just for you,” he continued. “It wasn’t a _job_. I needed you probably more than you needed me. Things would get bad and Dad would be screaming, saying all kinds of terrible shit. Then you’d curl up next to me and you’d put your little head against my chest. Made me feel like I was worth something.”

Sam stood and took a few tentative steps toward him. “You are Dean.”

Dean looked away, unable to cope with the emotion in his brother’s eyes. Unable to see whatever it was that made Sam sound so sure about it. “I shouldn’t have leaned on you like that. You were just a kid. Should’ve made you go out and make real friends. That was my fault.”

A voice inside him stirred, taunting him with the thing he was most afraid of. Maybe if he hadn’t kept Sammy all to himself all the time he wouldn’t have ended all twisted up inside and lusting after his big brother.

“You’re wrong,” Sam insisted. “None of it was your fault. You did the best you could.”

Sam’s words fell on deaf ears. Dean already had himself convinced. “Look, I don’t resent you, Sammy. I learned how to be strong because I had to take care of you and I didn’t want to you be scared.” At all of his weakest moments, he had been able to dig deep and find a reserve within himself to push forward that he would never have had without the memory of his baby brother who had always looked up to him. “Without that, I never would have survived this far.”

“You mean Baghdad?” Sam asked him.

“Baghdad“ Dean repeated. “And everything else.”

“What do you mean? What else?”

Dean dragged a hand down his face. “Have a seat,” he said, motioning towards the couch. “It’s not a pretty story.”


	6. Chapter 6

 

~ _1996_ ~

_Three days after his seventeenth birthday, Dean lay shivering on a narrow cot in a Kansas City homeless shelter. It was little over five months after he’d run away from his last foster home and lost contact with his brother._

_When he’d shown up at the Singer’s house looking for Sam and found it empty he’s been nearly paralyzed with panic and despair. He had no idea where the Singers were taking Sam other than the general destination of Vermont which to Dean’s mind might as well have been the Moon. He was all on his own and he had no way of finding Sam._

_He’d broken into the Singers empty house and slept on the floor of what he guessed had been Sam’s room by the glow-in-the-dark stars that were still stuck to the ceiling. The next morning he’d walked to the closest main road and stuck out his thumb with no real plan other than to start heading east . The truck driver who pulled over promised him a ride as far as Kansas City. Dean figured it was as good a place as any._

_For the last few months he’d been living on the street, taking whatever odd jobs he could find to earn enough money to keep himself fed and eventually save enough money to buy a bus ticket to Vermont. He figured that if he could scrape together a couple hundred dollars he’d be able to make the trip and then look up whatever college had a Robert and Ellen Singer listed in their faculty directory._

_The kink in his plan was that no respectable place wanted to hire him. He didn’t have a permanent address or a phone number he could be reached at. He didn’t have a resume or references or even a clean set of dress clothes to wear to an interview. The only places he could find work that would take him paid a few measly bucks for a day of hard labor and then cut him loose with no guarantee for tomorrow. He stood on street corners waiting with a crowd of other men all vying for the few available spots on the work trucks that rolled by them. Sometimes he went a week or more before he was picked for a job. The money he made barely kept him fed so he just ate less so he could save more._

_He was doing well enough until winter came roaring through the city. Freezing cold wind whipped in between the skyscrapers of downtown Kansas City like a wind tunnel. When the snow started a big chunk of Dean’s savings went to a warm jacket and a pair of secondhand workboots. He didn’t like it but without them he couldn’t work and if he couldn’t work then he’d never get to Sam._

_At night he’d return to his stash spot tucked up high in the crevice of an underpass where he kept his knapsack full of clothes, a small sleeping bag from Goodwill, and a ripped up blanket he’d pulled out of a dumpster. The spot was no good for sleeping what with the cars rolling by at top speeds overhead, so he’d alternate between a quiet place he found in a wooded area near the soccer stadium and a dead end alley in the financial district where there was always a stack of pallets for shelter. As long as he kept moving around there was less of a chance that he’d get rousted by the cops._

_He learned early on that homeless shelters were often more trouble than they were worth. Sure, it meant a hot meal and a roof over his head for the night – if they had room, which they often didn’t. But the tradeoff was incessant pestering by well-meaning volunteers trying to preach to him about the blessings of Jesus Christ and the wonderful experience of having to listen to a hundred other men snore, cough, mumble, and cry through their nightmares all around him in the dormitory while he tried to sleep and then hopefully didn’t wake up the next morning with bed bug bites or head lice. And those were just the good times._

_His third night in the city he’d stayed in a shelter and he’d had his pocket knife stolen. It was a gift from one of his foster ‘sisters’ who called herself Diamond and used to blow him in exchange for candy bars – sometimes for no reason other than boredom, all the while reminding him in no uncertain terms that she “didn’t give a shit about his skinny white ass” so he better not get any ideas that she did. That knife was the only weapon that Dean had to protect himself on the street and he was kicking himself for weeks afterward for not keeping a closer eye on it while he slept. In the grand scheme of things he’d been lucky. The guy five bunks down from him had lost his shoes._

_He hadn’t been back to a shelter since. That is until a few days ago when the mercury dropped through the floor and he decided that sleeping with one eye open indoors was better than freezing to death outside._

_This time he’d chosen a different shelter on the other side of town, hoping it would be a little better than the last. He’d waited for hours in line outside just to be able to secure a bed. The cold snap meant that all the shelters were jam packed, reverting to emergency measures to make room for all the men and women in need. City Union Mission was run by a different set of Jesus-freaks than he was used to dealing with downtown but he’d been to the Christmas dinner that they’d held a couple of weeks ago and they didn’t seem half bad._

_It was cold in the dormitory that night. They’d had to set up extra beds to accommodate the huge turnout they’d had in a utility room that didn’t get used very often. Dean was sliding in and out of sleep, too nervous to let his guard down for long. So far everything seemed okay here but he couldn’t take the chance of anyone stealing his stuff again. He had his boots laced tight on this feet, his knapsack tucked under his pillow, and all the cash he had to his name stuffed down the front of his jeans. The Mission’s blankets were rough but clean and he had a belly full of thick beef stew that was making him drowsy. If he could just get a few hours sleep, he thought to himself groggily, that would be awesome._

_Dean was startled awake by the rancid breath of a man leaning over him in the dark, a mouth full of broken yellow teeth fixed in a crazy grin inches away from his face._

_“Get the fuck away from me!” Dean pushed the man as hard as he could as he sprang out of bed and onto his feet. His fists were raised and ready to fight. The men in the other beds around them went right sleeping, or at least pretending to so they didn’t have to get involved._

_The man stumbled back and cowered, holding his palms up around his head in defense. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Don’t hit me, okay? I don’t want any trouble.” His voice sounded rusty and both his straggly brown hair and his mismatched clothes reeked of filth. There was no telling how old he was. He looked like he’d been living rough for a long time._

_Dean’s heartbeat started to slow down back to normal as soon as he realized that the guy was nuts but didn’t pose all that much of a physical threat. “What the hell man?”_

_The guy smiled in what Dean guessed was an attempt to show he was friendly and harmless but the expression he produced missed the mark by a mile and just came off as manic. “Are you an angel?”_

_Wow. Okay. He was one of those. The kind of guys who sat at the bus stop and talked to dead relatives or had to be chased out of McDonalds for yelling obscenities at the customers. It was just Dean’s luck that he’d ended up with a cot next to one of them who was in the mood to spread the crazy around._

_“I’m no angel,” Dean informed him. “Now leave me alone.”_

_The man straightened up a bit, lowering his hands. His eyes skittered nervously over Dean’s features. “You are. I can tell you are. I can see inside where the glow is and you glow.”_

_Dean rolled his eyes. “That’s just swell, Michael Landon. I’m happy for you. Now will you please go away?”_

_The man took a tentative step closer, his jaw going slack in awe as he stared intently at Dean. “Will you bless me, Angel? Please, will you bless me?”_

_Oh great. Crazy and persistent. “I can’t, okay? I keep telling you I’m not an angel. I’m just a guy. A guy who’s really tired and wants to go to bed.”_

_Suddenly the man in front of him shrank back in fear and Dean felt something hard and sharp poke into his back. Before he could react, a hand closed firmly around the back of his neck. Dean froze with his hands up in surrender._

_“Don’t move, Angel,” a deep voice warned him tauntingly in his ear. “You move an inch or try to make a fuss and I’ll stick you.”_

_He’d been so preoccupied trying to reason with the crazy nut in front of him that he hadn’t sensed the other man sneak up behind him. “What do you want from me?” he ground out through clenched teeth. “I don’t have anything worth taking.”_

_“I think you do.” The wide heavy hand on his neck moved down and landed against the cleft of Dean’s ass, groping him through his jeans._

_Dean sucked in a breath in shock at the invasion. His friend the crazy guy whimpered and crawled under his cot to hide. The rest of the men in the room either averted their eyes or lay motionless in their cots with bated breath._

_The hand slid lower between Dean’s legs as the man leaned down and cupped his package from below, squeezing hard._

_Dean’s eyes screwed up tight in pain. He could the faint hear the rustle of the bills hidden in his underwear._

_“See now? You’ve got plenty of things I want.” The man behind him straightened up and grabbed Dean by his hair, yanking his head backward until his body had no choice but to follow and was pitched against the man’s chest. “Drop your pants,” he ordered roughly. The point of his knife bit into Dean’s flesh._

_Dean felt a cold sweat break out over his skin. He was terrified, but not only of whatever this pervert had in mind for him. He didn’t care what happened to his body. He could survive whatever he needed to by going to that place inside his head that he went whenever John had been on a real tear. What scared him even more was losing all the money he’d worked so hard to save. If he let himself get robbed it’d take him forever to get to his brother. Sammy might forget all about him._

_Dean couldn’t give up without a fight._

_He made a move like he was going to play along and unbutton his jeans. Then using all the force he could muster he slammed his elbow back into the man’s stomach._

_The guy doubled over at the waist, his breath rushing out in a big whoosh of air, and lost his grip on Dean’s hair._

_Free now, Dean whirled around punched him in face. The guy’s head snapped back but he didn’t go down. If anything, it had only made him madder. He rushed Dean like a charging bull and tackled him to the ground._

_They knocked Dean’s cot over in the process and the crazy angel man shot out from underneath where he’d been hiding and ran for the door yelling his head off. “He’s killing him! He’s killing the angel!”_

_With all that commotion going on, the other men in the room couldn’t feign sleep any longer. They backed out of the way and watched the ruckus from a safe distance._

_Now that it was too late, Dean realized what he was really up against. The guy was huge. They wrestled for the knife but the older man’s bulk gave him the advantage easily. Dean punched and grappled with him, twisting his body trying to keep himself from getting pinned. If he could get the knife away from him or at least hold out until someone came to break them up then he might get out of this okay._

_The man snagged Dean’s arm and wrenched it behind him, slamming him face down against the floor. Dean fought hard to get his arm free and buck him off but the guy wouldn’t budge. Seconds later he felt the knife sink into his back._

_Pain lanced through him, exploding in white fire bursts across his vision. He heard yelling and people running towards him but he couldn’t move and he couldn’t breathe. He felt sticky warm liquid running down his side and pooling underneath him. Oh god, he thought. I’m dying. I gonna die and I’ll never see Sammy again._

_There was a scuffle and more incoherent shouting. His attacker was being forcibly dragged away._

_“Hey kid, hold on. The ambulance is on the way.” Someone told him. He felt pressure being applied to his wound and then mercifully he slid into shock and felt no more._

_~~~_

_Dean came to in a hospital bed and went into full blown panic. It took three nurses to hold him down until they could sedate him. When he calmed down enough to listen to reason, they explained to him what had happened. The knife had nicked his liver but the doctors had been able to repair the damage without resorting to invasive surgery. They kept telling him how lucky he’d been but he certainly didn’t feel that way._

_The only bright spot was that they’d assured him that his savings were safely locked up with hospital security when the money had been found in his clothes. Everything else he had in the world was gone._

_Then later that afternoon, Dean had a visitor._

_There was a polite knock at his door and a man he’d never met before poked his head in the doorway. He looked to be in his mid-forties, noticeably fit, with reddish blonde buzz cut hair. He was wearing street clothes and carrying a large brown paper shopping bag so he couldn’t be a doctor._

_“Hello. My name’s Jay. I’m one of the volunteers at the Union Mission. Mind if I come in?” he asked._

_Dean nodded and very carefully tried to sit up a little straighter in bed. His wound wouldn’t let him get very far before it let him know that was a dumb idea._

_“Take it easy, kid. You don’t want to go popping a stitch.” Jay walked in and took a seat in the chair at Dean’s bedside. “I brought you your things.” He held up the bag and pulled out Dean’s knapsack._

_“Thanks.” Dean took it from him and rifled through it quickly to make sure all his stuff was there. When he was satisfied, he breathed a huge sigh of relief. At least when he left the hospital he’d have his own clothes to wear and his sleeping bag to keep him warm at night._

_Jay smiled at his reaction and shook the rest of the contents of the shopping bag out on the hospital tray table. “Here, I brought you these too. I figured you could use them.” There were granola bars, beef jerky, dried fruit, a small toiletry kit, a package of tube socks, and a black wool beanie. It was a bounty._

_Dean was flabbergasted. This was better than Christmas. “The Mission sent you over here with all this just for me?”_

_Jay sat back in his chair and scratched his head. “Well, no. I came here on my own. This is from me, not them.”_

_Dean stared at him in shock. “Dude, I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know you. Why’d you do all this?”_

_Jay frowned, his expression turning serious. “I was working last night when you got stabbed. I was the one who was with you before you passed out. That kinda thing never usually happens at our shelter and I feel awful about it. You guys come to us looking for help. You shouldn’t have to worry about your safety when you’re inside our doors.” Guilt was twisting his features and damn if Dean didn’t know every note to that song by heart._

_“It wasn’t your fault.” Dean looked him right in the eye with sincerity in his voice. “Thank you for all of this. You didn’t have to but…thanks.”_

_Jay nodded and jerked the corner of his mouth up in a small gesture that was both a “thank you” and “you’re welcome”. He fidgeted and straighten up in his chair, body language belying an eagerness to push past the unpleasantness that neither of them wanted to dwell on. “So do you know what you’re going to do now? Do you have any family that can look after you while you’re healing up?”_

_A flash of Sam’s smile, bright and careless like he’d always have more of them to share bloomed in Dean’s mind. “My little brother. He’s in Vermont somewhere. I’m working my way there to find him.”_

_He realized then that wasn’t what Jay had really been asking. He didn’t know why he’d shared that because he hadn’t spoken about Sam to another living soul in months. It felt surreal, like he was talking about an imaginary friend - someone important and special that was too perfect to be real outside of his own head. Now he understood how the crazy angel guy felt._

_Jay just looked at him patiently._

_Dean cleared his throat and clarified. “No one around here. I’ll be fine though. I can handle myself.” He’d figure something out. Go back to the woods behind the soccer field and camp there until he could travel. Maybe hitchhike his way east for a while. It was dangerous as hell, especially without his pocketknife for protection but it would get him closer. He could stop in another city. Hold up there and earn some more money until he could afford safer transportation._

_Concern darkened Jay’s brow. “I’m sure you can, kid, but you really shouldn’t have to at your age. Especially not in your condition. You might think you’re invincible but I’ve seen too many kids not much older than you thinking that not a second before a bullet taught them otherwise.” He averted his eyes for a second, mouth tightened on a memory. “This brother of yours…did he run away? Is he in trouble or something?”_

_“No,” Dean said hesitantly. He had an idea of where Jay might be going with this and he didn’t like it. “He got adopted. Couple of teachers. They moved with him to Vermont and I…I don’t know where or how to get in touch with him. He needs me, okay? He needs me. I didn’t even get to...” Embarrassment burned across his cheekbones at the crack in his own voice._

_Jay face soften a bit. “Look, I’m going to ask you something. I don’t know you and I’m not trying to be an asshole but I think it’s a question you need to consider. Are you killing yourself going after him because he really needs you that bad, or is it because_ you _need_ him _?”_

_Dean opened his mouth to chew the guy out – he didn’t know them, he had no right - but no sound came out. The truth of it socked him in the gut and stole his breath away._

_Jay continued. “The teachers that adopted your brother? Are they nice people? They treating him good?”_

_Dean caught his bottom lip between his teeth, his chin trembling a bit. He didn’t trust himself to speak so he just nodded numbly.   He knew what Jay was about to say and he was already cursing his own selfishness for not letting him see it before._

_Jay sighed and carried out the grim duty of the final blow. “You need to consider that what you want and what’s best for your brother might not be the same thing.”_

_Dean looked away, ashamed of himself and how exposed he felt under the man’s gentle gaze as his whole world was crumbling apart around his ears. A tear rolled down his cheek and he scrubbed it away angrily._

_Jay stood, shoving his hand in his pockets. “I’m sorry, son. I didn’t mean…look, I’ll get out of your hair. I just want you to know that I’d like to help if you’d let me.” He took out his wallet and pulled out a card, placing it on the tray table along with all the goodies he’d brought. “This has my office number, my home number, and my cell. If I’m not at work or at home I’m usually at the shelter so I’m pretty easy to find. I want you to call me when you get out of here. Then we’ll talk about what you want to do next and how to make that happen – whatever you decide.” He tapped his knuckles against the table and sent Dean a tight lipped smile as he made his way towards the door._

_“Hey, Jay?” Dean said, stopping him before he could leave. “I gotta know. Why do you care so much? How come you want to help me?” In his experience, most people wouldn’t offer to stick their neck out for a total stranger unless they had something to gain._

_Jay paused and cocked his head. “Let’s just say I know what it’s like to feel lost and alone in the world. If someone hadn’t come along and helped me see a way out I never would have gotten back on the straight and narrow. I guess I’m just hoping to pay the universe back for what I owe. You take care, kid.”_

_Then he was gone and Dean was alone again with only his own thoughts to keep him company._

_Jay was right. He hadn’t been thinking about what was best for Sam. How had he been so blind? Of course Sammy was better off without him. The Singers could give him a life that meant security and normalcy. Dean had nothing. He would only be dragging Sam down._

_He couldn’t do that to his brother. It was the kind of thing that Dad would have done. Putting his addiction before his sons’ well-being. Doing the easy thing instead of doing the right thing. The muscles of Dean’s throat clenched tight on a sob, refusing to let it slip. He had to be strong and let Sammy go._

_It was better this way. A clean break. Sam would grow up and forget all about him._

_Dean leaned over and picked up Jay’s card, running his fingertip along the top edge as he read._

Sergeant Major Jason R. Allen (USMC)

Marine Corps Recruiting Command - 9th District - Kansas City, MO

 

 ~~~

In the early morning twilight before dawn, Sam and Dean sat side by side watching the cobalt sky outside their livingroom window bleed orange and pink as the sunrise began to break over the horizon. Dean’s tale, coupled with everything that they’d both shared had left them both emotionally drained. Dean was silent for a long time after he finished talking, expressionless and subdued. Sam let him be. His own mind was busy working at a fast clip to sort through all the information in front of him.

He wanted to be angry. He was angry. Furious even. Dean had no right to have made the decision for both of them all those years ago to lead separate lives. That somehow he wasn’t good enough or important enough even to be worth missing. That he’d drag Sam down. But Sam knew that he might as well be mad at a dog for wagging it’s tail. Self-loathing for Dean had been conditioned deep into his subconscious, beaten into him from a young age until it was as natural as a reflex. Dean had had all the right intentions at heart, as misguided as they were, and holding a grudge about it now wouldn’t give them that time back. They had to start thinking about the future.

Sam knew what he deserved for what he’d done to Dean. Even though his brother couldn’t seem to help himself from twisting the facts around and shouldering untold amounts of blame that didn’t belong to him, Sam understood that the guilt should rightfully lay squarely at his own feet. What he didn’t know was how they should move forward.

The lawyer inside him supplied all the likely possible outcomes to their situation and the concessions that each would require. Sam was resolved to do whatever it took to keep Dean in his life, in whatever capacity that his brother have him. Of course, that didn’t mean that he was going to settle for less without at least building his case for why they both should have more.

“You don’t have to go it alone from now on, Dean,” Sam said, breaking the stillness at last. He watched his brother’s profile, haloed in gold as the day began to dawn over his shoulder. “I’m here now and I’m not that little kid anymore. You don’t have to be strong for me.” Sam sighed. “Listen, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I really didn’t. But now that it has, I’m not going to pretend that I don’t want you because I do.”

Dean bit his lip but said nothing.

Sam continued on, laying his soul bare because after everything it was the least he could do. “I love you, man. Because you’re my brother but also ‘cause…just ‘cause. It’s as simple and as complicated as that. These past few weeks were everything to me. That’s what I want. You and me. To be honest, I think I always have.”

Silence stretched out between them with his declaration hanging in the air, dissipating gradually into the ether by each passing second.   If they let it die there they might be able to pretend it had never happened.

Sam waited and he hoped.

Then remarkably, Dean turned his head to Sam, his mouth tight and his eyes darting over Sam’s face like they couldn’t find a safe place to land. “Always?” he asked anxiously.

“Yeah.” Sam drew the word out shakily on an exhalation of breath, so relieved that Dean hadn’t immediately shut him down. “I was too young to understand back then but I know now. How I feel about you…it didn’t just happen. No matter what, it was always going to be this.” And because he knew how his brother’s mind worked, he added, “It wasn’t anything you did or didn’t do. I’m not confused or broken or whatever you’re thinking to rationalize this away. I’m a grown man and I know what I want. I want you.

He reached out to put a hand on his brother’s shoulder but Dean brushed him off.

“No! We can’t, Sammy. We can’t be together like that. I’m not alone. It’s me and Ben now and I can’t bring him into this. What will people say, huh? How can I ask him to live with this kind of thing?”

Sam’s brain registered that Dean hadn’t once said the words he’d been fearing. _I don’t want you_. He wasn’t sure if Dean had realized it yet himself but that glaring omission gave Sam a boost of courage. He just needed to guide his brother on through this to the light at the end of the tunnel.

“Dean, nobody will find out,” he reasoned. “We look nothing alike and I have a different last name now. Everyone just knows me as Sam Singer. No one needs to know we’re brothers but you and me.”

“What about the people who adopted you?” Dean insisted. “They’re like your parents now, right? They know the truth. What the hell would you say to them?”

Sam swallowed hard. It hurt him to think about causing them any pain. “They love me and they’re intelligent, open-minded people. Even if they don’t like it they’d never do anything to hurt me. They accepted me when I told them I was gay. If they can’t accept this…well, I’m willing to take that risk if it means that I’ll have you.”

Dean’s shoulders slumped and he stared down at the carpet. He looked like he had the weight of the word on his shoulders. When he spoke again his voice sounded soft and sad even to his own ears. “No. I can’t let you do that, Sam. I can’t let you give up your whole life for me. You were okay. You were doing just fine without me.”

“I’m not fine!” Sam shouted and pushed up off the couch, putting his back to Dean as he paced by the window. The anger he’d felt before reared it’s head again, breaking through to the surface. “I haven’t been fine since the day they took me away from you! My whole life I’ve never belonged. There’s been this…emptiness inside me that I can’t escape from. Do you know what that feels like?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

The anguish underneath Dean’s simple response cut Sam’s anger off at the knees. He sat down heavily on the couch and hung his head in his hands. How was he ever going to break through to Dean if he couldn’t get him to see past his own imagined failures? Taking a deep breath, he tried again for calm.

“Everything good I’ve ever done was with the thought that it might make you proud of me. Don’t you get it? This whole time, you’ve been with me every step of the way. Now I have you in my life again for real and it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Please don’t make me go backwards now that I know what it could be like.”

“What the fuck do you want from me, Sam?” Dean asked wearily. He looked like he was just about at his wit’s end.

Sam looked up at him, eyes full of hope and devastating love. “Everything.”

Dean shook his head and blew out a shaky breath. “This is too much. It’s all just way too much.”

He stood up and raked a hand through his hair. He looked absolutely wrecked. “I-I’ve got to go. My shift starts soon and I’ve got to take Ben to school.” He stared at Sam for a moment, the expression on his face shifting from despair to frustration and back again. “I’m sorry,” he said at last. Then he turned and walked out the front door, leaving Sam alone in the empty house.


	7. Chapter 7

After two days of complete radio silence from Dean, Sam couldn’t stand it any longer. He decided that more drastic measures would be required if he wanted to stop Dean from icing him out of his life completely.

He rode his bike over to Dean’s station house, hoping to catch him there where he couldn’t evade Sam’s attempts to contact him by just hitting the ignore button. Sam strode determinedly up to the open doors of the fire truck bays. There were a bunch of firemen sitting around a folding table playing cards but he didn’t recognize any of them right away.

“Dean?” he called out.

One of the doors along the far wall opened and Dean walked out wearing his fireproof bunker pants, suspenders, and his navy blue Fire & Rescue t-shirt. As soon as he saw Sam he froze and his face went blank. Sam could practically see the walls coming up inside of him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean asked as he drew nearer, pitching his voice lower so that the rest of the guys wouldn’t hear.

“You keep ignoring my calls.” Sam looked around at the rest of the crew who were conspicuously pretending not to pay them any attention. He brought his attention back to Dean who looked royally pissed at being cornered like this. It couldn’t be helped. “What am I supposed to do? We have to talk about this, Dean.”

“No we don’t,” Dean said, shaking his head. He had a whole different set to his jaw now. One that spoke of bleak resolve. He hadn’t been nearly so sure the other night when it had just been the two of them. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. It’s over, Sam. Whatever there was between us it’s got to be over now.”

Sam felt the impact of Dean’s words like a punch to the gut. “Don’t say that! Don’t you say that to me.”

“You go back to your life and I’ll go back to mine. It’s better this way.” Dean looked away, no longer meeting Sam’s eyes. “Maybe sometime later once everything’s cooled off we can work out a way to be…I don’t know - friends.” He glanced around nervously for anyone who might be listening in. “It doesn’t have to mean we’ll never see each other again. We just can’t be the way we were before.”

Sam wasn’t going to accept defeat now. Not when he was so close to getting everything he’d ever dreamed of. “No!” Sam shouted, past caring anymore that he was making a scene. “I’m not just going to let this go like it’s nothing. If that’s how you really feel then fine, I’ll do whatever you want me to do. But I don’t believe that’s what you really want. That’s just what you’ve got yourself convinced is the right thing to do.   You’re dead wrong. I love you, Dean! It’s messy and it’s scary as hell but it’s the truth. You can’t tell me that you don’t feel it too.”

“Everything all right, brother?” Benny said, walking over to them with a careful look from one to the other.

“I got this, man,” Dean told him. “It’s okay.”

“What the hell is going on out here?” someone shouted.

One of the firemen seated at the card table stood. Sam recognized him from the pool party but Dean hadn’t bothered introducing him. He was staring at the both of them now with a scowl on his face.

Dean shut his eyes, taking a deep breath before turning to face him. “It’s nothing, Gordon.”

Gordon sauntered over to them. “Doesn’t look like nothing. It looks like you need to keep a tighter leash on your butt buddy there.”

“You’re way out of line, Walker,” Benny warned.

“I’m sorry,” Gordon’s words dripped with sarcasm. “Did I offend your delicate sensibilities? I’m just saying what everybody else is thinking.”

“I’m in no mood for your shit today, man,” Dean said wearily. “Just walk away. This doesn’t concern you.”

“This is our _house_ , Winchester.” Gordon squared his shoulders and got right up in Dean’s face. “You might not understand what that means but you will respect it. Chief says we have to put up with you, but that doesn’t mean that you can drag your filth into our house and expect us to take it lying down.”

“Back off,” Dean warned through clenched teeth.

“Look at you,” Gordon said. “Acting all tough to impress your faggot boyfriend.”

“Fuck you!” His voice was a growl and his fists were clenched tight at his sides, his whole body radiated fury. Any sane person would have taken one look at him and turned tail to run.

“It all makes sense now,” Gordon continued on haughtily. “Taking it up the ass from a guy his size, it’s no wonder you’re fucking bowlegged. I always knew underneath it all you were a little bitch.”

“Hey! How about you shut the fuck up?” Sam shouted at him. He wasn’t about to just stand by while Dean took that kind of abuse.

“Aw, isn’t that sweet?” Gordon mocked him . “He’s trying to defend you, Dean. Maybe I have it wrong, huh? Maybe he’s the one that bends over for you? I bet he squeals like a stuck pig.”

Dean snapped. He lunged forward like an attack dog, punching Gordon square in the face. Gordon was knocked back on his heels but he came up swinging. They traded blows as more firefighters came running over to see what all the commotion was about. Gordon grabbed Dean around the neck and tried to choke him but Dean pivoted and threw him to the ground in a maneuver that spoke of years of marine training. Gordon tried to get up but Dean tackled him down and started punching him hard. Blood started spurting from the man’s nose.

“Enough, Dean!” Benny shouted, grabbing his shoulder.

Dean kept punching, his eyes gone almost black like a shark’s. He was somewhere else entirely.

Benny threw his arms around Dean, wrestling him back from hitting Gordon again. “Sergeant! I said that’s enough!”

Dean froze instantly like someone had flipped a switch inside him. He blinked few times and then looked down at the bloody mess he’d made of Gordon’s face.

“Come on.” Benny pulled him up and steered Dean away as a few of the other men knelt to check on their fallen crew member.

Sam could hear Gordon groaning in pain so he figured at least the guy was alive.

Benny walked Dean over to him, guiding him with a hand on each shoulder like Dean couldn’t be trusted to navigate on his own. “Can you take him home?” he asked Sam. “I gotta sort this out here. Our chief needs to know what happened and if he hears it from Gordon he’s not going to get the whole story.”

“I’m sorry, man,” Dean said to Benny. He was wincing a bit from the cut on his lip and his left eye was swollen. It was going to make one hell of a shiner. “I just lost it.”

“Don’t worry about it, brother. He’s had that coming for a long time now,” Benny patted his shoulder. “Now go on. Get out of here. I gotta go make sure they don’t fire your ass.”

Dean walked off with Sam following hot on his heels. He had to contain this situation before Dean did anything else stupid.

Sam held out his hand when they got to Dean’s truck. “Give me your keys,”

“What?” Dean looked at him like he was nuts.

Sam pointed to the red drips and smears staining Dean’s shirt. “You’re not going home to Ben covered in blood like that. I’m taking you home with me.”

Dean paced back and forth a few times, his whole body vibrating with pent up frustration and anger. Finally he handed Sam his keys and dug his cell phone out of his pocket, clicking over to the first number on his speed dial.

“Hey, Pam,” he said into the phone, as he climbed into the passenger seat of the truck. “Can you pick Ben up from school and keep him with you tonight?” Whatever she said to him made Dean’s eyes flick over to Sam’s face. “Everything’s fine. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

 ~~~

Dean was still quietly seething as he followed Sam into the house and upstairs to the bathroom where Sam pulled out their old first aid kit. He was so blindingly angry at Gordon and then again at Sam and at himself. With white-knuckled restraint he pushed it all down before he lost control again and did something stupid like put his fist through the wall.

It was awkward as hell trying to maneuver around in the narrow space now that they were both twice the size that they had been when they used to stand in front of this very mirror as kids brushing their teeth in the morning. Sam took up too much damn room.  Standing too close and bumping into him and accidentally brushing against his skin with his big gorilla arms. It was driving him insane. Dean felt the pressure in his chest building to dangerous levels.  Finally he sat on the lid of the toilet as Sam dug out some antiseptic cream and dabbed it over the cut on his lip and the one over this eye. His blood was still buzzing from the rush of adrenaline he’d gotten from the fight making him fidgety and shaky. Inside he was a blast site with the smoke of his most recent explosion choking the air. Hiding under the smoke there was still an unexploded ordinance just waiting to be triggered for detonation.

Sam was leaning over him, his face just inches away as he attended to the cuts. His tongue was caught between his teeth in the same way it always had been when Sam was little and he was focusing hard on something.

That tiny nagging voice in the back of Dean’s head asked the questions that he’d spent the last couple of days denying to himself. Did he really not recognize that Sam was his brother? Or did a part of him know and just go with it anyway? Was this what he’d been wanting all along? Dean wasn’t at all sure of what his answers might be or what they might mean about him. Anxiety and self-disgust churned together bitterly in his stomach.

“All done,” Sam announced.

Dean only grunted in response. Hopefully Sam would catch the hint and leave him alone for a while.

Sam frowned down at him. “Are you okay? Are you sure you don’t have a concussion or something? Gordon hit you pretty hard a couple of times.”

“I’m fine,” Dean snapped. “I can take a hit. You know that better than anyone, right?”

His brother’s face pinched up tight in response to Dean’s venom. “Fuck you.”

“Fuck me?” Dean marveled out loud, cocking his head at Sam in question. He could practically hear the click of the charge inside him as it engaged like a landmine under his boot. His features contorted in rage. “No. Fuck you, Sam. Fuck you!”

He jumped up off the toilet lid and pushed Sam back hard, making him crash against the sink. The first aid kit and all it’s contents went flying and clattered against the tile floor. The bathroom mirror jostled and clung tilted on the wall at a skewed angle. Dean spun Sam around to face the mirror, locking him against his chest with one arm around his neck as his free hand fumbled frantically with Sam’s belt. He had the manic disembodied idea that he needed to teach Sam a lesson. Show him the kind of man his brother really was so he understood what he seemed so willing to give up his fancy new life for.

Sam struggled, trying to pull Dean’s away from his neck. “Dean! What are you-“

“Shut up!” Dean growled. He loosened Sam’s pants enough that he could drag them down off his hips along with his boxers. Sam gasped and wriggled harder but Dean just tightened up his arm. His brother was big but he was the college type who hadn’t had to learn how to fight properly in order to survive. Dean held him in place without much effort as he spit into his own hand and grabbed a hold of Sam’s dick.

“Dean, stop!” Sam shouted, his eyes flying open wide with shock.

Dean’s eyes latched onto his in the reflection of the mirror and he continued stroking Sam’s soft cock, feeling it thicken up with blood in his palm. “Isn’t this what you wanted, Sam?” he snarled into his brother’s ear. “Look at yourself. Giving it up for your big brother. Are you proud of this?”

Sam flushed pink but remained stubbornly silent. Hesitantly his eyes flicked down to watch as Dean’s fingers slid up and down his length. Dean felt his cock jump and harden in his hand. His own pants started to feel oppressively tight around his dick but he ruthlessly ignored it.

“Tell me,” he demanded, feeling his anger fade into desperation as he realized he was losing control of the situation. “Tell me that this is what you want. This is what you want to risk it all for.”

Sam’s eyes cut up to his in the mirror defiantly. He fucked forward into Dean’s hand. “Yes.”

Dean stared at him as Sam rocked his hips into his fist.  He was caught now in the blowback of his own miscalculated strike. Sam wasn’t ashamed of this or of them. He never was. Dean was just lashing out at him as an excuse to test himself.

But even knowing that, he was too far gone now to stop it. He had to know if he could handle this – wanting Sam Winchester just as much as he had wanted Sam Harvelle now that all the cards where on the table and he knew what was at stake. Time to take it out for a test drive and push it to the limit. Their future depended on it.

He released Sam’s neck and pushed him down to bend over the sink. “Don’t move.”

Sam went willingly, his face inches from the mirror now and his breath fogging up the glass.

Dean let go of him to grab a pot of Vaseline from where it has landed against the edge of the tub and dipped his fingers in. He tossed it carelessly into the sink and then reached down slick up Sam’s hole.

Sam moaned softly at the first touch and spread his legs wider for his brother.

Dean watched himself in the mirror, sliding his finger inside and fucking it in and out, spreading the Vaseline around as he loosened Sam up with it before adding a second. He watched Sam’s eyes close and his mouth go slaw, rocking back on Dean’s fingers wantonly. It was probably single the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

Just to torture himself some more he began talking Sam through it, his voice rough and dirty. “You like that, Sammy? You like having your big brother’s fingers in your ass? Prove it. Show me how much you want this.”

Sam closed his hand around his own cock, stroking himself as he watched the reflection of his brother finger fucking his asshole. His dick was dark red and rigid in his palm.

Dean crooked his fingers and found Sam’s prostate, pressing in against it.

Sam moaned louder, high and thin.  Precome trickled down his cockhead as he squeezed it in the circle of his fist.

Dean’s own erection was hard as a rock and straining to be set free. Still he teased Sam with his fingers some more, drawing out the torment for them both. “Look at yourself, Sammy. Spreading yourself open for me and moaning for it. Tight little hole all stretched around my fingers. Does that make you hot? Taking it like a slut for your big brother?”

“Yes,” Sam panted. “Yes.”

Dean shuddered, feeling his cock jump in response. He added a third finger, working Sam open wider. “That feel good, Sammy? Fucking yourself on my hand. Jerking your cock, getting off on having your ass stuffed full of me. Tell me how much you love it. Convince me you love it and I might just give you my cock.”

Sam rocked back into him harder, his skin beading up with sweat. His thighs were starting to shake. “Oh god, yes! I fucking love it. Love your fingers inside me. Fucking me so good. Please, Dean. Please, I love it.”

Shocked at how fast and eager Sam’s mouth turned filthy for him, Dean groaned out loud. “Such a good boy, Sammy.”

Sam sucked in a breath, his whole body shivering with need as he fucked himself between Dean’s fingers and his own fist.

Dean realized the effect his words had on his brother and he nearly lost it right there. “Oh you like that, don’t you Sammy? Always were eager to please. You think you can take my now cock like a good little slut?”

“Yes! Yes, please Dean I want it.” He squeezed down on the base of his dick, stemming the tide. “Want you to fuck me.”

Dean slipped his fingers out of Sam, rubbing them one last time over the swollen rim of his hole. Then he shucked the suspenders from his shoulders and unbuttoned his bunker pants and the navy Dickies he was wearing underneath. Fuck, his job required a lot of layers.

When he was standing bare-assed behind his brother with his pants and his underwear were pooled around the ankles of his boot, Dean grabbed some more Vaseline out of the sink and smeared it down his cock, now wet at the head and achingly hard. He took the tip of it and tapped it lightly against Sam’s hole a few times teasingly before sliding in.

Sam moaned, clutching around him as Dean pushed in until he was balls deep inside him. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, Dean.”

Dean could barely hear him. He was floating outside of his body watching himself as he buried into Sam, loving every second of it. This was it. This was what he wanted. Unapologetically and completely. He let go then, falling back into himself and the feel of Sam’s body, crashing down hard and greedy.

He started to move, drawing his cock in and out of Sam in long smooth glides so they could both feel every inch of it. He listened to the desperate little sounds that Sam made and it gave him a dark thrill. “Feels good, doesn’t it Sam? Got your big brother’s cock filling you up nice. Fucking you good and deep. Just like you wanted.”

Sam whined and squirmed underneath him. Dean’s lazy strokes were designed to teased him without giving him enough to come and they were working perfectly.

“Yeah, just like this,” Dean continued, running his hands from Sam’s ass up over his flanks and down again. “Splitting you open. Making you beg for it. Beg some more Sammy and I’ll give it to you.”

Sam spread his legs wider, hips moving back to chase Dean’s thrusts. “Please, Dean. I can’t. I need more. Harder. Need you to fuck me harder.”

Dean hauled him up with an arm around his chest and another low on his stomach so that Sam’s back was pressed into Dean’s front. He stared at his brother’s face in the mirror, waiting for his heavy-lidded eyes to lock onto his, “Look, Sammy. I want you to watch. Watch yourself getting fucked good and hard just like you asked for.”

Dean snapped his hips up, pounding into Sam hard and fast. He was pumping his cock like the piston of an engine with the throttle thrown wide open.

Sam cried out and braced both hands against the sink. His dick slapped against his stomach as he let Dean ride him, taking it and watching everything that was happening with open mouth awe in the mirror.

The breakneck pace had Dean’s balls tightening up, ready to release. He was going to lost it any minute with how fucking good it felt and how Sam yielded to him, panting little punched out breaths for every jolt of his Dean’s cock in his ass.

Dean moved his hand down to fist Sam’s cock, letting the movement of their bodies together fuck it through his grip. “I got you, Sammy. I got you.”

Sam wriggled desperately like it was too much for him to handle all at once. He let out a chorus of little high pitched whimpers ascending towards climax for every thrust of Dean’s hips. Then he came - all his breath rushing out of him at once in a long groan as his dick pulsed in Dean’s hand, shooting come in short bursts all over Dean’s fist, his own stomach, and the bathroom sink.

Dean fucked him through it, racing towards his own orgasm. “Yes! Ah, fuck! Sammy!” He came hard, cock pulsing wet and warm inside Sam. His hips slowed, grinding to a halt as all of his frenetic energy drained out of him, leaving him hollowed out and trembling. He eased his hold on Sam, barely able to hold himself up anymore and they both slumped forward, leaning on the sink and each other for support.   Dean pulled out of him, his softening cock slipping out easily. Come trickled from Sam’s hole.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his breathing still labored and uneven.

Sam let his head rest against the mirror. He didn’t answer right away and Dean had a moment of sick panic, thinking he’d pushed it too far and destroyed them forever. Then Sam huffed out a breath, creating a circle of mist on the glass. “M’okay. I’m okay. You?”

Dean laughed his relief against his brother’s back. “Yeah. I might have died for a second there but I’m back now. S’all good.”

He stood up, stumbling back a step before he got his sea legs. Sam straightened up and winced as his elbow popped in the joint. They were both half-naked, fucked out and sticky with each other’s sweat. Sam grimaced as he leaned down and wiped a drip of Dean’s come from his inner thigh. “Aren’t we a sight? I need a shower.”

Dean grabbed some toilet paper and cleaned himself off before he pulling his pants back up, the suspenders of his bunker pants hanging loose from his waist. “Yeah, definitely. You can take the first one.”

Sam stripped off his clothes completely while Dean made a lame attempt at setting the bathroom back in order. When Sam leaned over to get the shower running, Dean noticed red marks on Sam’s hips that looked just about the right size and shape to have been made by his fingers gripping a hair too hard. Guilt flooded through him in a rush as he realized just how rough he’d been.

“Sam?” he began anxiously, getting his brother’s attention. “I didn’t hurt you did I? I mean, you’d tell me right? I didn’t mean to.  I don’t know what got into me.  Shouldn’t have let it get out of hand like that.”

Sam looked quizzically at him.  “Dean, I’m okay. Honest. You didn’t do anything I didn’t like.” When Dean just continued staring at him, watching Sam for any sign that Sam was hiding something from him, Sam grabbed him by the front of his shirt and planted a kiss on him to prove it.

Dean felt himself relax into the easy slide of their mouths.

Sam released him and smoothed out the front of his shirt carefully under his wide palm.  “Why don’t you go grab one of my t-shirts? There’s a few in the top drawer of my room.” Sam said, then corrected himself. “Your room, actually. I’ve been staying in your old room.” He gathered up the first aid kit and put it back on its shelf. “I’ll put yours in the washing machine when you’re done.”

Dean looked down at his shirt in confusion.  Oh, that’s right.  He was covered in blood, most of it not his own. “Probably a good idea.”

Sam pulled back the shower curtain and was about to step in to the water when stopped at glanced back at Dean. “Did all that answer whatever questions you needed answering?”

Dean felt his face color up at how easily his brother saw through him. “Yeah, it did.”

Sam quirked the corners of his mouth up in a satisfied smile. “Good.”

~~~

Dean left the bathroom to let Sam shower in peace and walked into his old bedroom in something of a daze. Right away he noticed that the twin bed he remembered having to squeeze into with Sam had somehow grown. That wasn’t right, was it? He was pretty sure beds weren’t supposed to just spontaneously double in size. Then again, his little brother had. Who knows what was what anymore.

Dean pondered that, stripping out of his clothes mostly on autopilot.  As he yanked his ruined t-shirt up over his head, his dog tags clinked lightly on their chain around his neck.  For some reason the noise drew his attention. It was a familiar sound to him but it didn’t belong in this room. Everything was so disjointed.  His past and his present mashed together in a wobbly mixed up ball.  He was Alice through the looking glass and he wasn’t all that sure what the rules were supposed to be on either side of the divide.

Well, fuck it. He never was one for following the rules anyway.

He changed into an old t-shirt of Sam’s with some kind of dog on it and snagged a pair of his sweatpants as well.  They were a little too big for him but he didn’t much care at the moment.  He padded out into the hall barefoot and was about to head down to the kitchen to root out something to eat when he saw a thin slice of light cutting across the floor at the other end of the hall.  His father’s room.

He stood there in the hall taking stock of himself for a minute.  Then on a half-formed thought towards tying up loose ends he took a deep breath and walked in.

It was nothing like he remembered and he was oddly disappointed.  Sam had clearly been through here on his cleaning binge.  The room was practically empty except for the bed with it’s bare mattress, a nightstand, and a chest of drawers. Even the windows were bare, bright afternoon sunlight streaming in and bleaching all the color out of the room like old bones.

It was all wrong.  There was no sound other than the quiet thud of his boots on the floorboards.  This room used to contain a cacophony of shouts, screams, slaps, and wails.  Now it felt silent as a tomb.

Suddenly Dean’s cellphone rang and he nearly jumped out of his skin.  He’d forgotten that he’d shoved it into the pocket of his sweatpants for safekeeping.  He dug it and looked at the display.  Ben.

“Hey, buddy. What’s up?” he said, mentally slipping back into parent mode.

Ben wanted to know why Pam was picking him up instead of him and what was going on. 

Dean calmed him down and told him that his friend Sam needed him right now but that everything was fine and he’d pick him up from Pam’s in the morning in time to take him to school.

Once Ben decided that everything was really okay he launched into a funny but you-kinda-had-to-be-there story about his history teacher followed by his predictions for tomorrow night’s Royals game against the White Sox.

Dean made the appropriate comments of “that’s good” and “sounds cool” when he was supposed to but he could barely keep up Ben’s seemingly endless energy.  When he ended the call he set his phone down on the nightstand and rubbed his forehead wearily.  He was exhausted.

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed and raked a hand through his hair.  He felt small and empty like he had then.  All the misery he’d felt as a child had crystallized into deep seething rage that burst out of him chaotically as a teenager until the Marines had trained him to focus it on a target.  When he’d gotten out and been trained how to fight fires that target just changed forms from human to flame.  He didn’t often let his anger get out of control anymore because , like today, when it subsided it always left him feeling just this way – small and empty.

Walking in there, Dean had hoped for…something, but he didn’t know what.  Closure?  If that was even possible.  Since he’d moved back to Lawrence a little over three years ago he’d made no effort to make contact with John.  No specific effort to avoid him either.  They lived in the same town so if Fate decided that they should talk then they could.  From time to time, he did think about what he’d say to the man if they ever crossed paths again.  Then he died and Dean figured that he’d lost his chance.

I’m wasting my time, Dean thought to himself.  Sitting there in the blank canvas that used to be his father’s room wasn’t doing him any good.  He should really pull himself together and change his clothes.  See if Sam was out of the shower yet.

As Dean started to stand, his eyeline became level with the top of the dresser and he noticed a leather bound book laying there that he hadn’t seen before.  Curiosity made him pick it up and flip briefly through the pages, noticing blocky handwriting instead of printed text.  He sat on the edge of the bed and turned to the first page.

_Property of John Winchester_

~~~

Dean sat alone in John’s old room reading the journal for hours.  A few times he noticed Sam’s presence somewhere outside the doorway but then it was gone again, just passing by to check on him without wanting to disturb him.  Dean was grateful for it.

It was pretty damn hard for him to sit through.  Reawakening all those bad memories with every turn of the page.  He had expected it to be.  What he hadn’t expected was that reading about the good times before his mom had died was almost harder to take.  It was a glimpse into the life he should have had and the happiness that could have been.  It made everything that happened afterward all the more tragic and terrible by comparison.

Reading through the story of their lives from his father’s perspective, Dean was faced with some harsh truths that he’d only ever guessed at before.  It was one thing to assume that his father hated him but it was another thing altogether to read it stated explicitly in black and white as incontrovertible proof.  It was a gut shot.  Somehow John was still able to hurt him even from beyond the grave.

_I could have killed him tonight I swear to god. I know he does it on purpose but for the life of me I don’t know what he’s trying to prove or what he thinks he’s doing by testing me like that. I’m going to teach him to show me some fucking respect even if it kills us both._

_I hate him. Lord help me but I can’t look at my own firstborn son and not feel hate in my heart. I don’t even understand it myself sometimes. I don’t know if it’s all Dean or if it’s just me hating the world and he’s in the path of it. Either way it works out the same. We’re like caged dogs in this house forever snarling at each other and I can’t stand the sight of him._

He and Sam hadn’t ever stood a chance at winning John’s affection.  He understood that now. There was nothing either one of them could have done because John had chosen to let himself die inside rather than really face up to life without Mary.  It was a slow kind of suicide but it was no less selfish than by any other means.  Dean and his brother had just been the collateral damage.

The injustice of it rocked him to his very core.

“You selfish piece of shit!” he shouted into the empty room.  He didn’t know if John could hear him in whatever dark corner of Hell he was in now but Dean hoped that he could.  "I fucking hate you too!”

He threw the journal against the wall with a heavy thunk.  It fell down and bounced off the surface of the nightstand, toppling the rickety old thing over onto the floor.  His cellphone went flying from its perch, cracking against the wooden baseboard and sending electronic shrapnel in five different directions.  Dean was too gone to care.  He dropped his head into his hands, suddenly overwhelmed by it all.

Dean didn’t notice Sam this time as he came running into view of the open doorway at the sound of the crash.  Sam took one look at the state his brother was in, made an aborted move to go to him, then quietly retreated.

Dean was swept up in a cascade of emotion, mourning not for his father but for the child he used to be.  That scared little boy with an impossible burden.  “I was just a little kid, Dad.  I needed you, and you didn’t even care.”  His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he choked back a sob.  “You weren’t the only one who lost her.”

Tears trickled down his face and his shoulders began to shake.  He’d pushed his feelings about his Dad down deep inside himself for so long that his body just couldn’t contain it anymore now that he had gone and stirred it all up.  “You used to be my hero, you know that?  I wanted to be just like you when I grew up.  Then you went and threw it all away.  Now I’d rather die.  I’d rather die than make my son feel even an ounce of what you put me through.”

He thought about Ben.  His funny, smart, lovable kid with Lisa’s hair and his nose.  Ben would never have to even question if his father loved him.  He’d know it.  As solid and constant as the ground under his feet.

Then he thought of Sam, the innocent bystander in the never-ending war between him and John.  His _Sammy_ – his weak spot and his strength.  Who put him back together every time Dad tore him down.  Who loved him on every possible level.  Sam deserved to be happy and Dean planned giving that to him.

Dean wiped the tears from his face and blew out a shaky breath.  He focused on Ben and Sam, drawing comfort from them.  The two loves his life.

“I’m not you, old man,” he said, addressing whatever part of John that still haunted the place.  “I used to be so afraid of being like you and making the same selfish decisions you made that I let the best thing in my life slip out of my fingers.  But I’m not going to let that happen again.  I’m going to do the right thing for _me_ this time.”  He wiped the last traces of moisture from his eyes and stood up, shaking the stiffness from his muscles.  “So…yeah,” he added sarcastically, feeling more than a little embarrassed of himself for essentially having a fight with an empty room.  “Thanks, Dad.  Good talk.”

Dean put the nightstand back up on it’s feet again and collected the pieces of his cellphone, shoving them back into the pocket of his pants.  Poor thing was probably a lost cause.  He bent to pick up the journal from where it had fallen.  It was flung open to John’s last entry - mostly mismatched groups of letters that would have been words had it not been for the whiskey and incoherent scratches of ink.  The most Dean could make out was:

_All gone. Everyone._

_My darling girl._

_Family._

_My boys. My fault._

_Forgive me._

If Dean had believed in such things he might have called it a sign.  He didn’t of course – but he was the kind of guy who believed in hedging his bets.  He dug up a pen from inside nightstand and left John one final message.

Then he set the journal back on the dresser, solemnly gave it the middle finger, and walked out of the room.


	8. Chapter 8

Emotionally drained beyond measure, Dean found he didn’t have much of an appetite anymore so he decided to forgo his scavenging trip to the kitchen after all and headed back into his bedroom.  It was only somewhere around late afternoon, maybe early evening, but it had already been a crazy rollercoaster day.  Having to actually feel his feelings sucked.  He didn’t know how most people managed doing it full-time.  He just wanted to sleep for the next fifteen or sixteen hours.  Hopefully Sam would be on board with that plan.

He approached the Sam-sized bed and face planted onto it.  “Oh yeah,” he mumbled into the pillow.  “Now we’re talking.”  Now he just needed a Sam-shaped pillow and life would be great.

“Dean?”

As if on cue, he heard Sam call his name.  Dean turned his head and saw Sam standing in the doorway.  He looked worried and a little haggard.  Someone really needed to make sure he was getting enough sleep and eating right.

Dean rolled over onto his back and propped himself up on his elbows.  “It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean said.  Putting Sam at ease when he was upset was a familiar habit that he fell back into now effortlessly like it was muscle memory.  “Just needed to sort some shit out with Dad.”

Sam ducked his head, swallowing hard.  “I heard.”  When he looked up to meet Dean’s eyes again his own were shiny with tears.  “I wasn’t trying to, I swear.  The walls around here are pretty thin.”  They began to fall down his cheeks one by one. “Always have been.”

Dean looked at him suddenly it was as if all the years that were lost between them lifted like a veil.  Underneath, they were still two frightened children clinging to each other because they were all each other had.

Dean moved forward on pure instinct, his need to comfort and console in response to Sammy’s tears was programmed into his very DNA.  He climbed off the bed and pulled Sam into a hug, rubbing circles lightly over his back like how he used to when Sam was little even though his brother was a couple of inches taller than him now.  Who would have ever thought that would happen?

Sam’s arms came up to hug him back and Dean leaned his head against Sam’s, breathing in his scent.  His lips brushed over the skin of Sam’s neck more by accident than by design and he felt Sam tremble a little.  It made his cock twitch and suddenly he wasn’t nearly so tired anymore.

Dean wondered to himself what kinds of sounds he could pull out of his brother if he went slow and did it right this time.  He wanted to show Sam that he could be just as sweet to him as he could be rough.  Make love to him like he should have done the first time.

Experimentally, Dean moved his mouth to up to the bolt of Sam’s jaw and tasted the skin there.  Was it any different now that the truth of their blood had been dragged out into the light?  No.  Not at all.

Sam sucked in a startled breath at Dean’s tenderness compared to how they’d been together before but he angled his head, offering himself up for more.

Dean moved on, sampling the flavor of his throat, his chin, and finally arrived at his mouth, setting up shop there contentedly in a familiar play of sweet pink lips and questing tongue.

Sam moaned, shifting against him so that they were pressed together from stem to sternum.

It was amazing to Dean how even though they’d been apart for the better part of two decades their bodies had grown to fit together perfectly like interlocking pieces of the same puzzle.

He felt the weight of Sam’s cock nudging against his hip as they kissed.  His little brother was hard because of him.  For him alone.  The realization of that sparked a new fire in his belly and Dean wasn’t the least bit of afraid of it now.  He wanted this - always.  He’d been a fool to think it would ever be any other way.

He lifted Sam’s shirt up, breaking their kiss only long enough to pull it up over his head.  Sam let him, then helped Dean out of his, apparently just as eager to remove all barriers between them.  Skin to skin, they let their hands roam freely over each other, mapping out all the changes they’d both acquired along the way as they’d grown into men.

Sam bent his head and kissed the twin circular scars at top of Dean’s chest just under his collarbone.  Entry wounds that were a matched set for the ones that marred the back of that same shoulder.

“Baghdad,” Dean said quietly.

Sam nodded, cataloging them and moving on.  His hands drifted down from Dean’s shoulders to his back, flitting over the burn mark.

Dean could feel the mangled nerves underneath it misfire with a sensation not unlike snow on a television screen.  “One of my first fires,” he said. “Pam-“

“She told me,” Sam said, smiling a little.  He kissed Dean’s mouth as his hand slid down to the scar under Dean’s right rib.

Dean flinched almost imperceptibly when he touched it.  “Kansas City.”

Sam’s face tightened.  Dean could practically hear the wheels turning in his head.  “Dean.  What you said before at the firehouse about us both going our own way-“

“Don’t,” Dean said, kissing the top of his cheek.  “None of that matters right now.”  He kissed Sam’s mouth, stoking the fire that had been building between them back into a full blaze.  He wanted them to be together more than anything but he couldn’t make Sam any promises just yet.  He had Ben to think about and his well-being.  Until he was sure, he just wanted them to live in the moment and appreciate what they had.

He released Sam so that he could pull off his sweatpants, his cock springing free.  Sam ogled him for a few moments unabashedly before he slid out of what remained of his own clothes.

Naked, Dean tugged him down to the bed and for a while they just kissed and touched each other, rutting against one another until they were both fully hard.  Dean licked and nibbled at Sam’s nipples, feeling every hitch of his breath. Listening to the thrum of Sam’s heartbeat against his lips.  He lined up Sam’s big beautiful cock with his own and took them both in his hand.  Sam gasped and rolled his hips up into Dean’s seeking the friction they both needed.  Sweat beaded up on their skin as they rocked together.  Hard muscle and firm planes undulating over each other.  The whisper of silky hard flesh sliding against flesh.

Dean could come just like this if they keep going that way and he could tell from the way Sam’s cock was leaking precome onto his belly that he could too, but he wanted to give him more.

He kissed Sam once more, softly and reverently, then coaxed Sam onto his belly and pressed open mouth kissed down along the path of his spine.

When Dean positioned himself behind Sam and pushed his thighs apart.  Sam hesitated and tensed up.  “Dean, I don’t know if I take that again so soon,” he said craning his neck to look over his shoulder at Dean.  “Kinda sore from last time.”

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean said.  “I’m gonna take care of you.”  He settled down on his stomach and his elbows in between Sam’s splayed legs and kneaded the firm flesh of his brother’s asscheeks in both hands until Sam relaxed a bit into the massaging motion.  Then Dean spread him open and blew gently over Sam’s hole, the rim still puffy and pink from its earlier abuse.

Sam squirmed a little at the sensation but he didn’t pull away.

Dean licked his lips.  “That’s it.  Let me kiss it better.”  He pressed his plump spit-slick lips to Sam’s hole and slid just the tip of his tongue in to caress the inside of his rim.

“Oh God,” Sam moaned, drawing each syllable out long enough to be it’s own plea.  He tilted his ass up in invitation for more and pulled his knees up higher on the bed to give his brother room to work.

Dean teased at Sam’s hole, drew his tongue in and out of the tight ring of muscle and then soothed over it again, lapping slowly in wide soft drags.  He drank up the quiet noises that Sam was making in response, feeling them as erotic little vibrations tickling their way down his spine and into his groin until he couldn’t help but to echo them himself.  He lipped and sucked, as turned on as if the same was being done to him.  Then he curled the point of his tongue up to massage the soft flesh of Sam’s inner muscles.

His brother shuddered underneath him, spreading his legs wider as Dean pressed in deeper.

Dean licked into him, lapping and swirling his tongue in over soft sensitive places inside that made Sam moan and hump the mattress for friction while Dean worshipped his hole.  Dean’s own cock was heavy between his legs, leaking precome against his thigh.  He felt the swell and sweet pressure there but he made no move to touch himself.  He wanted nothing to distract him from Sam.

For his part, Sam was practically vibrating, flushed pink down to his chest and gripping the bedsheets like he was afraid he was going to fly apart without something to ground him.  His body was wound up tight like a clock spring with need, helpless against the all-consuming onslaught of pleasure.

Dean hooked his arms up under Sam’s thighs, anchoring him in place as Dean stiffened his tongue and thrust into him.  Sweet Jesus.  Sam’s pucker felt so goddamn good, hot and wet as it clutched around him.

“Ah, fuck!” Sam cried out.  He rocked back against Dean, fucking himself on his brother’s tongue.

Dean released one thigh so he could reach between Sam’s legs and grip his cock, stroking and squeezing as he circled his tongue around the rim of Sam’s hole teasingly before thrusting back in.

Sam sucked a hiss of breath in through his teeth.  “Dean,” he cried.  “Dean.”

“What do you need, Sam?  Tell me,” Dean whispered hotly.  “Anything you want.”

“I want,” Sam panted, licking his lips to get his mouth to cooperate.  “Wanna suck you.”

Dean groaned and humped against the mattress.  “Fuck yes.”  He sucked a kiss into the meat of Sam’s asscheek, drawing his teeth across the skin lightly.  “God, Sammy.  So fucking hot.”

They switched positions, Dean lying on his back in the middle of the bed with Sam straddling his chest.

Sam draped himself down Dean’s body and took his erection in his hand, stroking a few times as precome leaked down the thick length of it.  Delicately, he lapped up the clear fluid with his tongue like honey.  Then he traced the tip of Dean’s cock with his tongue, sucking wet kisses against it as he tongued the slit mimicking the way Dean had teased his hole.

Dean closed his eyes and let his head loll back against the bed.  He couldn’t see what Sam was doing to him but he could picture in his head.  Sam’s gorgeous face with the thick fringe of his eyelashes lowered against his cheeks. Sweet pink lips rubbing around the head of his cock. “Sammy,” he moaned.

Wetting his lips once more, Sam took Dean’s cock into his mouth, cradling it against his tongue.  He slid his lips up and down its length, learning the velvet feel of it’s skin.

Dean groaned out loud, parting his legs wide for his brother and planting his feet flat on the bed.  He resumed his attentions to Sam’s hole as Sam wrapped his arms around Dean’s thighs, holding them open as he suckled his cock.

Dean’s dick twitched against the inside of Sam’s cheek and blurted precome over his tongue when Sam laved over a particularly sensitive spot, driving Dean absolutely insane.  Sam moaned around his cock and reached down to cup Dean’s balls, rolling and tugging at them gently in palm.

Dean’s squeezed Sam’s ass as he fucked his tongue into Sam’s hole, doing his best to stay still despite how Sam was bobbing his head up and down, sucking him like he was dying for it.

Sam started rocking back against Dean’s tongue, fucking himself on it as his dick rubbed along the valley of Dean’s sternum.  It was leaking wetly against Dean’s chest, sliding through the slick trail of precome.

Dean flexed his pec muscles, giving Sam’s dick more friction to work against.  He sucked Sam’s hole and twisted his tongue inside him as deep as he could get it.

Sam whined and swallowed Dean’s cock down until it hit the back of his throat.

Unable to keep still any longer, Dean began to rock his hips up in barely-there thrusts into Sam’s mouth.

Sam whimpered and he took it, wanting it as bad as Dean did.  He swallowed Dean’s cock deeper, his throat fluttering around it as his eyes began to water.

Dean groaned helplessly with his tongue buried in Sam’s ass.  He was desperate to come but he wanted to get Sam there first.  He couldn’t hold it off much longer.  His brother’s mouth was like heaven and the pleasure was too intense to cope with.  From the sounds Sam had been making he’d been right on the edge of it himself for long enough.

He traced the rim of Sam’s hole with two fingers, fucked open and sloppy wet with his spit.  He slid them in, curling and twisting them to press in and rub against Sam’s prostate.

Sam jerked and Dean’s cock fell out of his mouth.  He rocked against Dean’s fingers mindlessly, shouting his brother’s name and shooting come in thick white streaks on Dean's chest and stomach.  His inner muscles tremored and tightened around Dean’s fingers as the aftershocks of his orgasm ripped through him.

Dean could feel his brother’s come painting his torso and it spiked the pressure inside him even higher.  “Sammy,” he whined.  “Need you.  Please.  I wanna come in your mouth.”

Sam nodded weakly, still shaky from his release as the endorphins coursed through his blood.  He took Dean’s cock back into his mouth and sucked hard, hollowing his cheeks as he slurped at it noisy and dirty.

Dean bit his bottom lip, holding back a groan of pleasure.  His eyes slammed shut in response to the overwhelming sensation.  His hips thrust erratically as he fucking into Sam’s mouth, far past the point where he had any control left over his body.  Seconds later he came with an orgasm was so intense that he blacked out for a split second like someone had knocked him upside the head with a sledgehammer.

Sam closed his eyes and drank it down, savoring the flavor of Dean on his tongue and nursing his cock until it softened in his mouth and Dean couldn’t take the sensation anymore on his overly sensitized skin.  Sam released him and rested his head on Dean’s thigh, breathing heavy as he tried to catch his breath before he rolled off of him and got a wet towel to clean them both up.

Then, utterly debauched and muscles slack with pleasure, they crawled up the bed and collapsed with their heads on the pillows facing each other.

Neither of them spoke.  No words were necessary and trying to define the emotion that was flowing between them could have only cheapened it.  Instead they let the moment draw out quietly, the only sound was the whisper of Dean’s fingers gently combing through Sam’s hair.

Eventually as exhaustion started to make their eyelids heavy, they curled into each other in a boneless tangle of limbs, Dean’s head resting against the middle of Sam’s chest.  He listened to Sam’s hearbeat, letting it lull him into unconsciousness.

They slept together peacefully just like that all through the night.

~~~

The next morning Sam woke up to an empty bed.  Dean’s side of the mattress was cold.  There was no telling how long he’d been out of it.

At first Sam was confused.  He looked around him at the indentation in the sheets where his brother had slept and felt the loss of his warmth like a phantom limb.

Maybe Dean was in the bathroom or had wandered downstairs to get something to eat.  Neither of them had eaten much the day before.  He got up and pulled on the sweatpants that Dean had been wearing the night before.

The bathroom was empty, as was their Dad’s room, and Dean’s clothes were also nowhere to be found.  He must have gotten dressed.  Sam tried to ignore the first flush of real concern in his gut that that realization caused.

He walked from through the first floor of the house calling Dean’s name but there was no answer.  Concern turned to mild panic as went back upstairs to his bedroom to retrieve his cellphone.  He didn’t know where Dean had gone but he obviously wasn’t in the house.  The gears in Sam’s mind spun as raced up the stairs.  He could come up with all kinds of practical reasons that Dean would decide to slip out while Sam was sleeping but there was one nagging thought that was turning his blood cold.  Everything between them finally felt like it had clicked into place so it couldn’t be that Dean had left because of him.

Could it?

Sam picked his cell phone up off his dresser and stared at the blank screen.  No missed calls and no messages.  Dean hadn’t left him any word of where he was going or why for when Sam woke up without him.

But he could be jumping to conclusions.  Maybe it just hadn’t occurred to Dean.  He dialed Dean’s number and listened for it to ring.  He had to be wrong.  Dean was going to answer his call and clear everything all up.

But Dean’s phone didn’t ring.  It went right to voicemail.  Wherever Dean had gone he had shut off his cellphone.  

No, but okay it could just be dead, Sam thought to himself even as panic surged in his blood.  It didn’t necessarily mean that Dean had shut off his phone with the intention of ignoring him.  He’d go over to Dean’s house and find him.  It all had to be a mistake.  It had to be.

Sam got himself dressed in a hurry, shoved his feet into a pair of sneakers and grabbed his house keys.  He stepped out into the hall and had his hand on the railing about to run down the stairs when he saw a spot of white out of the corner of his eye that didn’t belong and he stopped dead in his tracks.

The bedroom door of his father’s room was open and Sam could see his journal laying on top of the dresser, sunlight shining off an open page and making it gleam.  He hadn’t noticed that before when he’d been rushing around looking for Dean.  It was open to the very last page and there was a pen laying on top of it.  Sam certainly hadn’t left it like that. Maybe Dean did.  He had been reading the journal the night before but Sam couldn’t imagine why he would write in it.

Sam would be the only other person who would read the journal.  Maybe Dean had left him a note?

Curious for any clues as to what had been running through Dean’s head before he left that morning, Sam walked in and turned the journal towards him to read it.

_I’m sorry but I can’t forgive what you did._

_-Dean_

Sam felt all the blood rush out of his head and stumbled back against the bed before his feet could give out from under him.

Sam had thought that Dean had forgiven him especially after the night they’d shared but the truth was right there in his own handwriting.  Sam’s mind scrambled for answers as he ran over the facts he had.

Sam had told Dean repeatedly that he loved him and he wanted to be with him.  They’d fought, which turned into sex – amazing sex – but Dean had never responded with the same.  When Sam had brought up their argument at the firehouse last night, wanting to know if Dean still wanted them to go their separate ways, Dean hadn’t wanted to talk about it and distracted him with more sex.  He had left this morning while Sam was sleeping with no word of explanation or goodbye and his phone was off.  And then the note.

The ringing silence that Dean’s absence left behind was like thunder inside Sam’s head.  The evidence was damning.

Dean had left him.

Dean couldn’t forgive him for what he’d done.

Every bright hope that Sam had for them after last night was shattered, leaving him hollow and numb.  The implications of what Dean’s rejection meant started to sink in.  Sam had fucked them up forever.  He’d lost Dean and he didn’t know if they could even be brothers now.

Sam felt like he was going into shock.  There was a well of pain growing somewhere inside him that his body and mind couldn’t handle so they were shutting down like a fail-safe.  He was in survival mode now and self-preservation was his only goal.  He needed to get himself somewhere safe that didn’t know his brother’s smell and the echo of his brother’s laugh.

Home.  He needed to get home.  This house, Lawrence, Kansas – none of it was home without Dean.  So Sam mechanically packed up the few possessions that belonged to him in his duffle and threw it in the back of the Impala.  She’d be his getaway car from the scene of the crime.

Dean had said that he didn’t want it anymore anyway.  Sam could relate.

The old car roared angrily to life underneath him as he started her up, indignant about being left neglected for so long.  Sam put her in gear and drove away, leaving the now tidy front lawn with its well-behaved rose bushes as the only obvious signs that he’d been there at all.

When he got to the interstate he turned on the Impala’s wipers on to clear the rain which was clouding up her windshield.  They had no effect.

It was only then that Sam realized he was crying.

~~~

Dean walked through the door into his kitchen and tossed his keys onto the center island.  He could hear Ben’s footsteps as he bounded up the stairs to shower and change his clothes.  He’d just picked him up from Pam’s and Ben was already begging to go over to his friend Billy’s for more Xbox after school.  The kid was obsessed.  If only he put that much energy into his science homework.

He went about fixing them both some breakfast of eggs and bacon while he geared himself up the awkward and possibly difficult conversation he needed to have with his son.  He felt like him and Sam were finally on the same page and he knew what he wanted but none of it was going to work if it made his son’s life miserable.  If it wasn’t right for Ben then it would never be completely right for him.

Ben came down a short while later wet hair and his knapsack hanging from one shoulder.  “Okay, I’m clean.  Let’s go, I don’t want to be late.  Mr. Moore gets all psycho about people who show up after the bell rings.”

“Hold on.  You sit down and eat some breakfast first,” Dean ordered.  “I’ll worry about handling Mr. Moore.”

Ben dropped his bag to the floor and sat down on one of the stools at the kitchen island.  Dean filled up a plate for each of them and then sat down with him to eat.

“How was Pam’s?” he asked him.

“Good,” Ben said, around a mouthful of scrambled eggs.  “We watched a couple movies and she made me spaghetti.”

“Good.  Sorry I had to leave you with her on such short notice but something came up and I just figured it would be better if you hung at her place.”

Ben crunched down a slice of bacon.  “How come your eye is all purple-y?”

Shit.  How was he going to explain homophobic assholes to his kid?  “Um, well I did a bad thing.  Remember how I told you that I want you to use your words and not your fists when people make you mad?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I broke that rule yesterday and I got into a fight with someone,” he admitted.  “Which I shouldn’t have done.”

Ben dropped his fork and his eyes when wide.  “Somebody was picking on you?  Like a bully?” he asked incredulously.  “Did you beat them up?”

Dean nodded.  “Yeah, it was a bully.  But whether I beat someone up or not isn’t the point.  It wasn’t cool at all.  It’s not okay to hit people, even if they’re jerks to you.”

“Okay,” Ben said.  “Does it hurt?”

“Not too bad.  Does it look gross?”

Ben shrugged.  “Not too bad.”  He ate some more of his eggs and then declared himself full, pushing back from his plate.

Dean figured he had about two seconds to broach the subject of what he really wanted to discuss before Ben was itching to get out the door again.  “Before we go anywhere I want to talk to you about something.”

“Okay,” Ben said warily.

“You remember my friend Sam, right?  He had dinner with us the other night.”

“Yeah, sure.  The tall guy.”

“You like him, right?”

Ben shrugged.  “Yeah, he’s cool.”

“How would you feel if Sam and I were more than friends?”

“What do you mean?” Ben asked in confusion. “ Isn’t he your boyfriend?”

“U-um.” Dean stammered.  He’d explained to Ben about the birds and the bees a couple of years ago, giving him the modernized version about how sometimes guys fell in love with guys and girls fell in love with girls.  Ben had accepted the information pretty damn philosophically at the time, but since Lisa’s death Dean hadn’t been in a serious enough relationship to introduce anyone as his boyfriend before.  Not that he would anyway.  Grown men didn’t call each other _boyfriends_.  Did they?  How was it possible that his nine year old son was already smarter than he was?

“Earth to Dad.  Come in Dad,” Ben said, waving his hand in front of Dean’s face.

“Huh?” Dean snapped out of his internal freakout.  “What? Why would you think that?”

Ben rolled his eyes.  “Dad, I’m not five.  It’s super obvious.  You’ve been going out a lot more often and you’re smiling all the time for no reason.  Besides, Pam told me.”  He cocked his head, giving Dean a look like he was trying to read his mind.  “Are you guys going to get married?”  Latching on to the idea, his eyebrows shot up excitedly.  “Is Sam going to be my stepdad?”

“What?  No!  I don’t know!” Dean said, panicking just a little.  This was all Pam’s fault.  Ben was definitely picking up some of her crazy mind-reading tricks.  “Maybe.  Would you totally hate that idea?”

Ben furrowed his brow in what Dean recognized as his thinking face, usually reserved for complicated multiplication problems.  “Nah, that’s cool.  He seemed nice.  You like him right?”

Something inside Dean’s heart melted a little. “Yeah, buddy I do.”

“Okay.”  Ben’s forehead smoothed out and his whole face brightened, the matter clearly sorted out and settled his mind. “Can we go now?”

Dean sat back in wonder at how cavalierly his kid had just given them his blessing.  “Uh, okay,” he mumbled in mild shock.

Ben snatched his knapsack off the counter and bolted for the door like an overexcited puppy.  “Come on, Dad!”

Dean just stared after him for a second as the screen door slammed shut with a bang.  He‘d always been proud of his boy but he’d never felt it so strongly than right in that moment.

Dean grinned to himself.  We can do this, he thought.  We can really do this.

Sam wasn’t wrong about anything that he’d said.  No one had to know.  They couldn’t legally marry in Kansas anyway and it wasn’t like they had to worry about either one of them getting knocked up.  He didn’t give a damn about anyone else’s bullshit moral code.  He didn’t have the luxury of that particular delusion after everything he’d seen and done in his life.  Sam was willing to turn his whole life upside down to be with him.  The least he could do was meet him halfway.

Dean grabbed his keys and followed after his son.

You can’t choose who you love, he thought to himself.  Even if he could, he knew deep down that he would always choose Sam.

 ~~~

Dean drove Ben to school and went to the bakery to pick up a couple of coffees and some donuts for him and Sam.  Second breakfast was one of Dean’s favorite meals.

He hadn’t heard his cellphone yet so maybe his brother was still asleep.  He kind of hoped that Sam was still passed out in a sex coma where he’d left him so that he could come up with some interesting ways of waking him up.

Dean put the food on car seat next to him, turned the engine over, and then reached into his pocket to double check his phone just in case.

His fingers connected with the rough broken pieces of his cellphone and he remembered too late that it had gotten smashed the night before in his tirade.

Oh shit.  What if Sam had tried to call him...

Worried now, Dean floored it out of the bakery parking lot and raced right over to the old house.

He pulled up in front and noticed right away that the Impala was glaringly absent from the driveway.  A cold sweat broke out over his skin as a sick sense of déjà vu struck him.  Dean threw his truck into park and jumped out, feet pounding on the pavement and he ran up to the front door.  He tried the knob and found it locked.  The front window was dark and peering inside, Dean couldn’t see any trace of his brother.

He pounded on the door.  “Sam!  SAM!”

No one was there to answer him.

~~~

A week later, Sam was back in his office sitting at his desk.  Outside, the infamous San Francisco fog was blanketing the city in thick grey clouds.  It matched his mood perfectly.

He was swamped with work and was still trying to catch up on all the time he’d been gone.  He’d been able to hand a few of his clients off to some of his partners but somehow there had still been a deluge of paperwork waiting for him when he’d gotten back.

He was wading through a backlog of emails, trying to make some kind of order out of his inbox when his intercom buzzed.

“Yes?”

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Singer but you have a visitor,” Maggie said.

What the hell?  He wasn’t ready to take on any new clients until he got his current ones sorted out.  He’d have to refer whoever it was to someone else.  “Thanks, Maggie. Send them in please.”

He fished around in his desk for a notepad and a pen in case he needed to jot down some important facts.  Fitzgerald was all set to go on vacation next week so he couldn’t handle a new case right now.  Harry had already covered a lot of Sam’s work so he couldn’t ask him.  Maybe Ed would be interested if he wasn’t too busy?

“Nice office.”

Sam froze.  It couldn’t be.

He looked up and saw Dean standing in his doorway.  “W-what are you doing here?”  He stood and came around to the front of his desk but didn’t dare reach out and hug Dean like he wanted to.  He wasn’t wholly sure if he still had the right to.

Dean shut the thick frosted glass door quietly behind him.  “Well I happened to have some time on my hands.  You see, I got three weeks unpaid suspension for breaking Gordon’s nose- which yeah sucks, but was it was totally worth it – and I was told that San Francisco was a pretty cool town.  I thought I’d come check out.  Anyways, I was in the neighborhood so…”  Distractedly he walked over to the wall of windows and whistled appreciatively at the view.  “Wow.  They aren’t kidding when they talk about the fog around here.  Like trying to drive through pea soup.”

“Dean,” Sam said, getting his attention.  “You didn’t come here to talk to me about the weather.”

Dean turned to face him, his expression flat and unreadable.  “No.  No I didn’t.”  He folded his arms over his chest.  Dean was clearly done bullshitting around.  “You bailed on me, Sammy.  Any idea what it was like finding out that you left without me.  _Again_?”

Sam bristled.  “You left me first!  The morning after we….”  Sam looked away, the pain of that rejection still too fresh in his mind.  He cleared his throat.  “You were gone and you weren’t answering you phone.  Then I saw the note you left in Dad’s journal and I figured there wasn’t much to stay for.”

Dean blinked at him like he didn’t understand what the hell he was talking about.  Then his face fell and his arms dropped to his sides as realization dawned.  He looked horrified.

“No, no, Sammy.  It wasn’t like that at all.  You’re wrong.  I didn’t leave you.”  Dean took a few steps towards him.  “The note was for Dad.  It was just a stupid...”  He trailed off, shaking his head ruefully and rolling his eyes to the ceiling.  “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.  Not like he can read it now anyways.”  Dean shrugged in a self-deprecating gesture.  “Guess I felt like I had to have the last word.”

“So it’s not true?”  Sam couldn’t believe his ears.  He’d been wrecked ever since that morning and it had all been a mistake.

Dean looked pained.  “No.  Sam, how could you even think I’d do that to you?  I went home to talk to Ben.  I had to make sure he was going to be okay with everything.  You and me.  And he is.”

Sam stared at him wide-eyed, scared to hope it was true.  “You really mean it, Dean?  You forgive me?”

“Course, I mean it.”  Dean stepped closer, a smile warming his face.  He was in Sam’s personal space but he didn’t move to touch him yet.  “I didn’t tell Ben _everything_ ,” he amended.  “He doesn’t need to know that just yet.  Maybe never –I don’t know.  We’ll have to work that out together.  But as far as right now goes, he’s good with it.”  He frowned at Sam a little. “I went back to the house when I realized my cell was dead but you were gone.  You must have already left.”

It was dead.  Dean hadn’t been ignoring him.  Sam felt his heart swell in his chest.  Dean had come back for him.  He’d chased him all the way to San Francisco.  It was going to be okay.

“So, what?  You couldn’t have called to tell me?  _My_ cellphone works just fine.”,” he said petulantly.  Despite everything he was still Dean’s little brother after all.  “I’ve been going crazy for days.”

Dean reached out and put his hands on Sam’s hips, thumbs finding the deep grooves above his hipbones through his clothes and slotting into place like they were made to fit there.  He smiled with a evil glint in his eye.  “That’s what you get for stealing my car.”

Sam’s mouth flew open in outrage.  “You sonofva-!“

Dean stopped his words with a searing kiss, drawing the fight right out of him.  Sam responded almost without thinking, looping his arms around Dean’s neck like it was the most natural thing in the world.  Dean pulled him in tighter, fitting their hips snugly together as his clever tongue caressed Sam’s.  Sam dove his fingers into the short soft hair at the back of Dean’s head as he took the kiss deeper.

On impulse, he tightened his hold on Dean’s hair and tugged his head back to Sam could look him in the eye.  “If I had been there at the house,” he demanded, “What were you going to say?”

Dean stared into his eyes earnestly, all his bravado gone.  “I told you once that I’d never leave you.  I never wanted to, but I thought I was doing the best thing for you.  Now I know better.” He leaned in, sliding his hands around to the small of Sam’s back.  “The best thing for you is me, and the best thing for me is you.”  He swallowed hard, and when he spoke again his voice was rough.  “I love you, Sammy.”

Sam melted into him, pouring his whole heart into their kiss.  A warm beam of golden sunlight filled the room as it broke through the fog.

They parted just enough to catch their breaths and Dean leaned his forehead against Sam’s.  He whispered a promise against Sam’s lips.  “Not gonna to let anyone or anything take you from me ever again.”

“Mr. Singer?  Oh!  Oh, I’m so sorry.  I didn’t realize...”

Sam turned his head to see his secretary, Maggie, peeking her head in around his office door.  Her cheeks with bright pink with embarrassment.  Equally as embarrassed at being caught, Dean tried to shift away from him but Sam calmly held him steady.  “What is it, Maggie?”

“Nothing!  It’s nothing!” she said anxiously and hurried.  “Ed - I mean, Mr. Spangler just wanted to know if you felt like meeting him for lunch.  Don’t worry about a thing.  I’ll just tell him you’re busy.”

“Great,” Sam smiled at her magnanimously.  “Thanks, Maggie.  You can go ahead and leave early today.  I’m taking the rest of the day off.”  He didn’t look at Dean, but he could feel the smug smile that curved up his lips.

Maggie brightened and grinned blithely at him.  “Thanks Mr. Singer!”  She gave Dean one last look, shot Sam a quick wink, and then she was gone.

“Playing hooky, Mr. Singer?”  Dean tsked mockingly at him.  “What about protecting the weak from the forces of evil?”

Sam pulled Dean back in closer against him and leaned down to give the thin skin under Dean’s ear a sucking kiss.  He could practically feel Dean’s pulse revving up.  “Unless ‘evil’ is planning on storming through that door within the next hour or so, I really don’t give a damn.”

Dean clutched the back of Sam’s shirt, tilting his head back and exposing more of his neck to Sam’s attentions as Sam nibbled along the pale column of it.  “They do have lawyers in Kansas,” Dean said breathily.  “So I’m told.”

“Kansas?” Sam asked.  He picked his head up to look Dean in the eye.  He had to be sure that they both understood the gravity of what his brother was offering.  A life for them together.  A chance for the three of them – Dean, Ben, and Sam - to be a real family.

“Yeah. Kansas.”  Dean leaned up and kissed his forehead.  "Come home, Sammy.”

Sam nodded, nuzzling his face against his brother’s affectionately.  He had Dean back.  As far as he was concerned that meant that he was home already.

  
~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the artwork for this fic created by evian_fork at http://evian-fork.livejournal.com/145376.html


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